Somewhat Damaged
by ajattra
Summary: Post-Series When Azkadellia can no longer pretend, she reveals the terrible truth in front of the nation; that she was a willing partner to the Witch. This leads into the unravelling of her muddled mind, and Azkadellia finally learns the truth of her possession herself - as well as her complex relationship with Zero. Azkadellia/Zero.
1. Open

1. Open

Her eyes opened as she slowly came to her senses and awakened from her dreamful state. She felt the warm sunlight caress her face, and invited its warmth to her bare skin with pleasure. She didn't remember the last time she had enjoyed sunlight or anything so simple and mundane. It was energizing to lay there; safe under the covers and safe from the outside world, but she knew she couldn't stay there for long and slowly turned to her other side, opening her eyes fully this time.

Another morning and a new beginning were at hand, yet she didn't face either with a hopeful heart. Everything felt heavy and alien as she moved: the fabrics that covered her skin, her hair on her shoulders and her tight skin. Her senses were no longer heightened and fitting for a superior being. No, she was just ordinary now and everything else was plain and dull day after day. Nothing was like it was in her memories, just a crude imitation of the perfect world she had known.

She clothed herself, covering the curves and shapes of her graceful body that she had once paraded eagerly. She left her hair loose on her shoulders instead of tying it down to an extravagant hair-do. Her eyes weren't tough and bitter as they had once been – now she merely looked defeated, almost broken.

Azkadellia heard no voice in her mind, no noise behind the door, urging her to wake up. The gazes that followed her in the long corridors of the palace weren't fearful and admiring, but hateful and sharp. She walked those corridors anyway, standing proud and undefeated no matter how she felt inside. She wasn't theirs to be broken; she wasn't giving up yet.

DG was a pet of the society, a heroine worthy of adore and respect. Silent whispers spoke of her succeeding their mother to the throne. Those same whispers asked why Azkadellia hadn't yet faced the court for her crimes. Suspicion made sure her every step was followed and debated on. Everyone was certain she would never be queen again.

So the mood of the court was jubilant to the random observer, but underneath the façade things were boiling, as those responsible for the O.Z's darkest years were called to be judged and expected to suffer the hurt they had caused in full.

She was angry too, only she concealed it in the very depths of her conscious mind. Her family assumed she was an innocent victim, unaware of the Witch's plotting and schemes: just a child viewing a horrible plan. DG still thought she was responsible for the horrors that Azkadellia had gone through, and tried to make it up to her dear older sister in any way possible, but in Azkadellia's mind it only weighted down their relationship and prevented it from growing into the same devoted sisterhood it'd once been. It was a shame really – how guilt had made them both its prisoners.

No steps echoed behind hers, she didn't sense a worried presence trailing her. If she were to stop, there would be no one to ask her why she had done so. No one to examine her and make sure she wasn't feeling unwell – no one doting her with their undivided attention.

She had been Queen, a woman worthy of fear and respect. Now she was nothing – just a daughter and a sister and it wasn't enough to sustain her. She wanted more from life: wanted it in her grasp, so she might play with it and twist the expectations. She wasn't an innocent; she was guilty even if her sister never wished to admit it.

Azkadellia had been fifteen years old when the Witch had entered her body and led her onto the chaotic rampage for the throne that had messed the O.Z for good. She'd grown overnight and realized her purpose, worked endlessly to fulfill it. It wasn't her fault she had been betrayed by the one she'd trusted the most: her true mother and mentor, the Witch.

But she could not voice these thoughts; they were evil and would condemn her. Azkadellia couldn't say she didn't yearn for her parents' touch simply because she had spent the last decade despising them. She tried to hold her body still when her mother put her arms around her and closed her in a tight embrace, but she always shivered; that comfort always felt foreign and uncomfortable.

Azkadellia needed words of assurance, but it was not her mother's way. She needed to know what her purpose was now that she wouldn't be Queen, but her father could not give her that. DG couldn't tell her what her worth was now that she skulked these halls day after day doing nothing important, just living on like she was expected to.

It wasn't that she didn't love her parents or hadn't forgiven her family for leaving her; it was just that she no longer had control over her destiny and it was killing her. It was this façade she put on, this lie she needed them to believe; the lie of her innocence, laying the blame on her possession when she knew very well she had been awake the whole time.

Azkadellia didn't want to leave her room today, didn't want go through that routine once more. She'd always stood proudly by her believes, and even as the Sorceress she'd truly believed in _their_ vision for O.Z. Perhaps that had made her a fool, but abandoning everything she was taught to believe in, everything she had become, was not an option.

So she struggled through every day, giving DG her faint smiles, going through with her attempts to remake their bond. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy her sister's company – it was just that DG really didn't know her at all, not the true Azkadellia. Some day there would be time, but not now when her fate hanged onto a thread. It was any day now that her mother would make up her mind about the proper procedure to undertake in order for Azkadellia's name to be cleansed.

She looked at herself in the mirror again and her pale face looked back. She'd picked a yellow dress, wavy and long, to wear today. Someone had once complimented that the color suit her, though she no longer remembered who it had been. Her messy hair landed on her shoulders as chaotic black sable falls.

The voice had told her to dress according to her position. Wear her high heels and expensive fabrics as if they were the core of her being, the thing that determined her. Slowly the costumes had become part of her identity, and the complicated hair-dos had merely highlighted her fine features as had the open necklines and slinky corsets. She had used her sexuality openly in her favor and haunted the thoughts of her servants – be they men or women – day and night.

The voice had told her to trust no one, show no special favor to any of her subordinates. She hadn't pitied any of them, yet she had prized those, who had dared look into her eyes and question her reason with a valid suggestion on how to correct her mistake. It'd been slippery slope, for the ones who had gotten too comfortable speaking their minds openly had usually had their lives extinguished not soon after, and the only one who had managed to skate on that edge had been the man she had trusted most, even if not perfectly.

_Ah, Zero, the man with a thousand lives_.

Azkadellia hadn't spoken his name aloud since she'd lost her position as his Queen, nor had she made inquiries as to what had been his fate. Shame overcame her now that she realized his efforts in her name would most likely be rewarded with an execution. All who had been loyal to her were either dead or facing charges. She couldn't even protect her own.

She actually let her head hang, wondering whether her subordinates had even known she'd appreciated their efforts at all. The voice had told her to keep them under strict command and to use fear instead of rewards in commanding them. There had been silent rapport between her and her closest generals – surely they had understood and served her faithfully without feeling unrewarded for their hard work?

It felt humiliating to admit that without the Witch's congress she was truly lost and didn't know what she ought to do. The threads of her life had been stolen from her hand, as well as the heartstrings of her subordinates. Despite her shortcomings, she had wished to protect these people from harm, and give them glory by her side. Now all of that seemed like a far away dream, just an echo of a life she'd led long ago.

Her frilly dress made her look completely different from before, but her mother had argued that change was good. Her mother had said she needed time to find herself again, and that she would have to come to grasp with the things she had done under the Witch's influence, even when she wouldn't be convicted for these deeds.

She quickly glanced at the bottle of wine by the dressing table and sucked her bottom lip that felt dry and corroded, as the thirst for the numbing nectarine clenched her insides. She had been taught to fuel her negotiations with luscious meals and heavenly wine, the social lubricant of the gods. People were more pliable to manipulation and reason when their stomachs were full and their minds dulled by the euphoria of intoxication.

A smirk crept across her face. She too had enjoyed her fine share of the wine; felt it warm her insides and relax her beautiful body. She missed those evenings of tough negotiations, secret agreements and hedonistic revelry. No, not all of her reign and power had been based on raw violence and magic – some had actually been the result of her brilliant mind and ability to manipulate and bargain. Yet she also remembered the sadness these events had allowed to creep into her mind and the almost silent sound of steps following her to her chambers. _Why had it always ended in tears?_

Azkadellia didn't reach for the bottle, or for any other drug to dull this experience. This was her punishment and she intended to suffer it in full. She deserved worse for being_ the destructive power that had destroyed the O.Z of old_ as those who opposed her put it. Perhaps seeing her complete failure was the most suitable punishment anyone could've come up with.

A quiet and gentle knock on the door attracted her attention and she quickly gathered her voice and wiped the stranded tears from her cheek. "Come in," she urged, inhaling her true character and exhaling the lie. And so the old Azkadelia was gone again and the new one had entered the picture. She was a beautiful sight with her gentle smile and fragile posture and she looked so much like her mother. Still when she looked in the mirror something was always missing.

It was her mother that entered the room, glowing with that enchanting aura of calmness and wisdom. She was still a remarkably gorgeous woman, despite the years that restoring DG's life had taken away from her. But the thing Azkadellia paid attention to most was the way her mother looked at her: so lovingly despite all her sins and mistakes. She didn't know what unconditional love meant – she'd been taught that no such existed: that it was merely an illusion. The voice had educated her, convinced her that everybody wanted something from other people, and that no matter how deep that selfish desire existed, it was always there guiding your every action.

"Azkadellia," her mother called to her with open arms, and she felt the sting of her conscience lift her from her chair and guide her into her mother's arms. Once again this display of love and care made her skin crawl and her lungs gasp for oxygen. She had gotten better at disguising these bodily reactions to the presence of her loved ones, and hid them by clutching her mother tighter in an attempt to feel what her mother felt. Sadly it just wasn't there yet.

"Have you been sleeping well?" Her mother asked, breaking off their embrace to examine her weary face and the rings around her eyes: They made her lovely complexion seem so ghastly. It had taken her hours to hide them underneath make-up each morning since she'd come back here, to the Finaqua of her youth.

Then her mother saw the wine on the table and how the room was encompassed in darkness despite a single window that let the sun wake her by shining on her bed. Worry took over her, and she tied her arms around her daughter again. "It won't be easy, my love," she sighed caressing Azkadellia's back.

For once Azkadellia let her façade fall and pulled away to look into her mother's lavender eyes. Her gaze was piercing as she admitted, "No, it won't."

A hesitant silence encompassed them for awhile as the mother studied the daughter and the daughter allowed this. The tension rose between them, but was quickly snuffed out as the mother smiled at her daughter and placed her delicate hand on Azkadellia's cheek.

"I do not wish to punish you, Az, but you know as well I do that the people are demanding blood and some assents must be made, " she explained all this while still looking at Azkadellia with undivided attention.

From what Azkadellia could gather from her memory, she had always been second to DG in her mother's mind and while her younger sister had been lavished with attention, she had merely been someone to watch over her. She couldn't remember a single moment from her youth when her mother had actually been this interested in her. Like a bad daughter she had wanted to gain her attention at any cost, even through damage.

Something was pressing her chest, making it hard to breathe. The anguish was almost unbearable. Her mother had come up with a solution, something that would serve as her punishment, hadn't she? Azkadellia had thought she would not care what judgment her mother would pass her, but to her surprise she was hanging onto every word and every look desperately. So she truly was this hungry for her mother's acceptance? _How sad and pathetic…_

"Az, tonight you'll give a speech to the people. You will explain your actions and tell them your story. But most importantly you will apologize to them all: To all the people the Witch hurt while she lived inside you. You will show them that you know compassion, that you are still a decent human being underneath."

_Apologize?_ Azkadellia froze at the mention of the word and felt her anger creep from its hole and attempt to grasp her heart. Was her mother serious? Did she really think a formal apology would make everything go away?_ No, it wouldn't._ The people had no reason to believe her, let alone forgive her!

"Will I not be put before the court?" She asked, feeling void of the relief that should've been running through her body and telling every tensed muscle to relax.

Her mother raked her hair, apparently remembering what it'd felt like back when she'd still been a child. She was too nostalgic and sentimental to act as her judge – Azkadellia knew this now and couldn't help but feel somewhat angry. Her crimes had been against her mother too, but she didn't want revenge or justice. It was sickening how easily her mother was able to forgive her everything.

"We must take small steps to your recovery. A sentence would not help you, nor would it help the Witch's victims. Revenge would hurt both you and them. There are other ways to restore peace and trust, my darling."

_No, there weren't_. Azkadellia despised this whole idea, but could not argue with her mother, so she conjured her faint smile and pretended that she saw wisdom in her mother's words. Perhaps it could be cleansing, this begging for forgiveness? Perhaps her mother was wiser than she ever would be and all her arguments would just be in vain?

"I must prepare then," she said sounding almost joyless. Luckily her mother knew how difficult this was to her and expected nothing else than void sorrow. Only her mother expected it for the wrong reasons. She assumed Azkadellia was afraid to tell them the truth, when in reality she didn't wish to be seen and heard by everyone as she confessed to lies.

* * *

She stood in the shadow, shielded from everyone's touch in the dark. DG had helped her pick her dress, a melancholy blue shade that reminded her of her youth. She wore gloves as always, unwilling to touch anyone or anything with her naked skin. The dress covered her finer features, just like all the other dresses in her closet nowadays. The collar felt tight, strangling around her neck. She had gathered her hair up carelessly and a few rebellious streaks framed her face.

On anyone else, the attire would've inspired trust and honesty – but not with her. You could dress her in anything today, but nothing could make her into the innocent girl her family saw when they looked at her. She was a murderer, a creature so hideous that no one would look at her, no matter how she was gift wrapped. And amid this horrible experience she realized she'd never felt this alone.

Near-by Ambrose was observing her the way he used to back when she was a child – like she was a wayward daughter, a bomb waiting to go off. He'd always favored DG and demanded more from Azkadellia, no matter how hard she had tried. Even then she had felt he had treated her unjust, focusing only on his own opinion of her instead of her good work. She had told mother, but she'd only told her she was imagining things.

No wonder she had enjoyed breaking him. She hadn't been above petty payback back then – no, the Witch had encouraged such action, knowing it would break her bonds with her past.

She could tell he was trying to be discreet in looking after her, but after not using that brain of his for over ten annuals, he was still a bit rusty. Not that anyone would even notice, just her. She'd begun to observe him in return when she'd realized the old man had feelings for her younger sister. At first the thought had disgusted her, driven her into sisterly rage. Now she just watched as her sister went on day after day without noticing a thing. Was it cruel to feel triumph because of it?

She'd have rather had DG find someone younger, someone she could understand – no scratch that, Azkadellia would approve any man over this one. Despite the peace that'd been forced upon them, she couldn't quite tolerate Ambrose yet. This hatred for him was almost primal, something she didn't have a choice in feeling.

DG stepped into view approaching Ambrose, laughing and smiling at him. She still called him Glitch, since she only really had recollection of him as Glitch, not as Ambrose. Removing his brain hadn't really even been Azkadellia's idea; The Witch had whispered this thought in her mind, and she'd taken it in with pleasure, watching every step of the process. She'd perverted Ambrose's ideas and made them into something unspeakable. Perhaps it'd been easier to blame him for everything instead of her mother.

Her sister noticed her and approached, jubilant as always, white flowers in her wild hair. "There you are!" she smiled and took Azkadellia's shrouded hand into hers. Azkadellia forced her anger towards Ambrose down her throat, swallowed the spiteful questions and remarks, and looked at her little sister calmly.

"Back from your adventures sister," she said, laying her hand on DG's shoulder almost affectionately. There was still a long way to go before her hand would be stable upon another person's shoulder, but DG didn't seem to mind her fumbling efforts. She welcomed them like they were important, and it was all that mattered.

"They're not _adventures_," DG explained, feigning hurt feelings, "I'm getting to know the O.Z. There's still so much I don't remember about my home."

There was nothing much to see in Azkadellia's opinion. Most of the old beauty of the O.Z had been destroyed by her own hand and would never be recovered. The countryside her sister longed to visit was full of peasants and robots, rolling in mud and living the simple life. These however weren't the words she spoke.

"Has Ahamo shown you everything yet? Or do you plan to return to your nomad ways in awhile?" Their teasing was still light, finding its ground. It was difficult for Azkadellia to find words that weren't spiteful or didn't end up unintentionally hurting her sister. It'd become easier though, seeing as DG was tough and always sought to help Azkadellia in learning how to socialize.

Of course it was a skill very different from the socializing Azkadellia knew. The Witch had taught her to talk people dizzy and then strike where it hurt most. She'd learned to extract information through being ice and fire or as gentle as the wind. However in this game, the words were empty and held several hidden meanings that only served to further her purpose. DG's purpose was to get to know her, learn to love her again with the same depth as when they were children, and Azkadellia simply didn't know how this game was played.

"I think I have my hands full with you," DG frowned, clearly wanting to talk about the thing that had drawn her back to the palace in the first place.

Azkadellia avoided the insinuation however, fearing what might become of the conversation if it took that course. "Really? I thought you rescued me once already?"

But DG wasn't buying the distraction. She laid her hand over Azkadelia's and looked at her in the eye. "Are you really up to this, Az?"

Her honesty made Azkadellia's heart ache in pain. Of course she wasn't, but explaining that to her mother and then saying why… _that_ was what she truly wasn't up to. So she simply shook her head lightly and answered bravely, "I need to do this."

Ambrose walked up to them interrupting the sisterly moment efficiently. He coughed and bowed to DG, before turning his attention towards Azkadellia. There was no bow for her, just a doubtful glance that seemed to last forever.

"Princess," he started, clearly irritated that it was still the only rightful title for this young woman, "Your mother is ready to begin the broadcast."

Azkadellia looked back at him numbly, until she finally felt something – a disenchanted sense of hope. "Thank you, Ambrose," she thanked him, sounding overly polite and formal in her approach. Then she moved past him, unable to put on a brave front for her sister in order to say something that would put her mind at ease. Somehow she still didn't know how to do it.

DG looked after her, giving Ambrose's side the slightest stab with her elbow. He made a small noise of pain and looked at her surprised that she'd actually hit him. "Great work, you scared her away," DG said, attempting to justify her use of violence.

Ambrose merely shook his head at the small girl beside him. He might've loved her, but forgiving Azkadellia just for her sake was a damn hard thing to do.

Azkadellia moved behind the speaker's lectern, placing her hands on its sides. Light encompassed her fully, giving an aura of innocence and candor. All was planned well; every ray of light and dust particle in the air was in just the right place. All she needed to do was stand there and speak the words from the teleprompter – Easy, right?

Someone was motioning the countdown to the moment they would begin to air. She saw her mother stand a bit further away, her attention directed fully at her daughter. DG was watching also and so were her friends. Ambrose stood next to her and Cain behind her while Raw stood a bit further away, a puzzled look on his face. DG's friends formed a protective circle around her, making sure she felt safe and could rely on them should anything happen.

To Azkadellia's surprise the air was heavy with unadulterated fear. They all feared she would make a mistake, reveal her true nature and try and ruin the O.Z. once and for all. They all carried the tension within, ready to break under pressure. This was worse than she'd thought; they all expected her to _fail_. All except her mother, who watched her with iron conviction. Her mother wanted her to succeed and wipe this room clean from that fear.

"Princess, you're on the air," a whisper awakened her from her thoughts, and she turned her troubled face towards the camera. She could see how shaken she looked on the monitor, how the words hovered on another monitor, just waiting for her to grasp them. The long silence felt even longer now.

Azkadellia cleared her throat.

"Dear citizens of the O.Z. I am Princess Azkadellia of the Royal Family. It has been more than ten annuals since we last saw each other."

The tension died a little when she began reading, and her anguish seemed to vanish. She took on the role of the innocent girl, possessed by an evil witch.

"I was fifteen when I found the cave where the witch was trapped in with my sister. She came to us as a scared young girl, asking for our help. Foolishly I tried to help her, and she took my body from me."

DG glanced at her mother, realizing how the truth seemed different, clearer somehow. The writers of this speech had excluded the part where DG had left her sister there for the wolves.

Azkadellia's chest was on fire. These weren't her words, these lies. These weren't the story of Azkadellia the Sorceress, but Azkadellia the little princess, who'd dreamed of a world of innocence: The same Azkadellia who had never gotten into trouble, unless it'd been prompted by her younger sister.

"For years I watched her destroy everything I cherished: she tried to kill my little sister, she imprisoned my mother, drove my father into exile and hurt countless of others I would've never wanted to hurt."

This was insane! Her anguish knew no boundaries and her body had tensed more and more as the speech went along. She'd clenched her hands into fists, trying to keep her rage inside and just go through with it. These were excuses she'd never make. The humiliation licked her body like a wave of fire.

And then she was in a dark place again: Alone in the spotlight and the rage ready to overflow. The repentant look on her face turned bitter, and she stared at the camera with hollow eyes. There were no words for what she felt, no sentences existed that would wash away her blame. She was biting her lip without even realizing it and it bled, filling her mouth with the most familiar and comforting taste.

"She wanted to destroy this world, and I was too weak to expel her from my body."

The words blurred in front of her eyes. Something inside her was screaming while trying to tell her this was wrong: Her conscience, that feeling in the bottom of her stomach that the Witch had buried for all these years. As a child she had always told the truth, but the Witch had taught her to lie like it meant nothing. Now that she was gone, it longer felt like nothing – now it felt like everything.

She couldn't stand this charade.

It was then that she remembered the Coffin. Her mind embraced that thought and her tension vanished suddenly. It seemed like all the people around her were holding their breath while she regained hers.

"I don't want your pity," she said, looking straight into the camera and ignoring the apology glaring at her in the teleprompter. "I was never asleep, she merely whispered into my ear and being the foolish child I was, I listened to her."

She saw her mother draw her breath in shock; saw the camera crew freeze in their steps. Cain's hand had stopped fidgeting his gun and it now rested calmly on it, ready to act should the situation require it.

Azkadellia continued, caressing the lectern's wooden surface with her hand, "I have no excuses for you and I don't want your forgiveness when it's based on a lie."

It was in her mind, its smooth black surface and unique smell. She'd studied it eagerly upon getting it in her hands. It was a symbol of power, its name roused fear. Upon a time the most sinful souls in the O.Z's history had all experienced its embrace. It was more than wood and materials, more than ancient magic and runes. It was alive and she actually longed its embrace, whether it would choose to damn her or save her.

"I don't know what I deserve and neither do you. But there's something that does know: The Coffin of Old. I leave my fate in its hands and hope I still have something worth salvaging."

Azkadellia walked away, leaving chaos in her wake. DG seemed confused, her mother was more heartbroken than ever and worried eyes followed Azkadellia's march out of the room. She cared not for their reactions, but only the still peace in her heart. Finally the weight had been lifted.

"I don't understand. What's this coffin?" DG asked, looking at her friends for an explanation. Ambrose turned to look at her first, still overcome by restlessness. She frowned upon seeing him so disturbed and tilted her head the slightest bit to look at him with new eyes.

Cain was the one that spoke first. "The Coffin of Old is an ancient relic, a thing that has a mind of its own. The witches of old used it to determine if there was any chance of redemption for the most dangerous criminals the O.Z has ever seen." He sounded almost worried, but clearly revered this object he spoke of.

"It is a torture device your mother only used once before banning its use for good," Ambrose warned. His voice lacked its usual gentleness though. It was more alert, and it scared her more than any other reaction she had seen to this news.

"Maybe something good come out of this too?" Raw suggested, relighting hope in DG's heart.

"What do you mean?" she asked, moving closer to Raw in hope that her sister hadn't just given up: that this was a reasonable move in unreasonable situation after all.

"Sorceress never used Coffin," Raw replied.

"That's true. She feared its power," Cain confirmed, finally moving his hand from the handle of his gun. He did still seem troubled though, like he had an itch he couldn't quite scratch. DG turned her attention to Ambrose, who had turned his back on them and was looking at the speaker's lectern that Azkadellia had occupied just moments ago. He seemed deep in thought and didn't speak until DG was about to ask him about this Coffin.

"The Coffin sees into the soul of the person within it. Somehow it sees into the conflict of light and dark and then determines which is dominant, and whether a person will ever be salvaged. Those who are consumed by their own darkness end up killing themselves in their sleep."

DG's lips were trembling, she could almost picture this thing in her head. Her magic and her mind responded to it and were only amplified by the fact that this same image was in everyone's mind at once. She saw the coffin, its slender form and rune-covered surface, and she instantly knew why Azkadellia was so drawn to its power.

Her eyes were burning now, tears wanting to be cried and let loose on her cheeks. But she held them back, knowing there was hope. Her sister had taken her hand and chosen light instead of dark. It had to mean something – there had to be light in her heart too!

TBC


	2. Worthy

2. Worthy

Objections over her decision had risen almost immediately; It was too dangerous, it was illegal, no one knew where the Coffin was, and no one wanted her to risk her life. They were all excuses and she had shot them all down with little effort. The Coffin had been one of her most prized possessions, and it still lay in her tower, the pinnacle of her power, so it certainly wasn't lost. The rest were no concern to her, mere verbiage for show, as only few people on the face of the O.Z. truly cared for her wellbeing. Azkadellia didn't pay any heed to it; she just saw it as another attempt to take the reins of her life from her hands. If she died, at least she would die the way she had chosen: fighting instead of humiliated.

Her sister hadn't cried like she'd expected, but faced her bravely, given her the tightest hug and told her to come back. Her mother had tried to talk her out of it – they had argued even, but not even the authority of the Queen herself had been able to stop Azkadellia from entering the tower as she'd announced. Her mother has seen a speck in her character, a spark of her true spirit for once, and become mute in its face. If Azkadellia lived through this, perhaps she could slowly show her mother the rest as well?

Her escort had been a small group, just her family, some security and the people who helped her mother govern the O.Z. She had undergone a full medical examination, slipped into her nightgown, and faced the Coffin with an anxious heart. For a few moments she had simply run her hand across the surface of the Coffin, felt its seductive power beneath her fingertips, and become immersed into its call.

She hadn't even noticed her first confidant standing calmly by the door, until she was about to open the lid and surrender herself into the embrace of the Coffin. She hadn't expected Ambrose, but knew immediately he'd spoken her sister out of coming here in fear of what DG might see or hear during her watch. She'd almost appreciated the gesture, but not enough to thank him for it. Ambrose and Azkadellia had exchanged knowing looks, before he'd helped her lift the lid of the Coffin and open it.

The runes had reacted to this by beginning to glow faintly. Ambrose had given her his hand and helped her into the Coffin, making sure she lay there comfortably. She hadn't spoken a word, just nodded when the time was full, and he'd lifted the lid back on.

Darkness had claimed her instantly, and strangely this embrace had felt comforting. It had taken hours for her to fall asleep though, the excitement had been too strong and mixed with fear. Eventually she'd fallen asleep to a sweet lullaby sung to her by a voice she didn't quite recognize, yet trusted fully.

Now she was dreaming and remembering. She was free from the Coffin and attracted by music that tempted her to follow it. Azkadellia didn't doubt for a minute as she let herself be led towards familiar surroundings.

Ten annuals ago she was a young adult, and already queen by her own hand. A year had passed since she had successfully recruited the core group that would become her Longcoats: her police and private army, the extension of her will. Some of them were just teens, several annuals younger than her. Some were men in their prime, strong and ambitious, willing to serve her unconditionally. And some were old Tin Men, scorned by the previous queen's rules and regulations, seeking for revenge.

The tower was bustling with anxiety that night as she was holding a celebration in honor of her Longcoats. What made this special was the fact that against usual policy she herself was attending this celebration.

The voice had told her to reward these subordinates, give them a night to remember to better earn their loyalty. Some still had doubts and needed to be drowned in wine and women, so Azkadellia had made sure her Longcoats were doted and given as much appraise and attention as possible. She even addressed several promising Longcoats herself.

Truly this was one of the few nights that she really fulfilled her promises of glory and honor by her side. But amid the hedonistic happening, she too felt unsure and restless. She was young, beautiful and powerful, but somehow all her power and all her riches simply didn't repay the price she'd bought them with. Azkadellia craved for attention and was bustling with strange and unfamiliar energy: she was frustrated and ravenous at the same time.

It was then that the Witch understood what her budding mind and body craved for – intimacy. Now Azkadellia knew it'd been a way of keeping her in check: allowing her to dream and fulfilling those dreams in order to sully the experience. This night had been one of those times that she had allowed her feelings to guide her, and the Witch had taken advantage of it.

Azkadellia retreated from the noise and ecstasy of the party to the balcony and inhaled the lovely night air in an attempt to cool down her raging desires. It wasn't quite the cold shower she would've hoped, but would have to do. She needed to complete her duty first and foremost and then she could think about fulfilling these strange desires she'd begun experiencing lately.

_Do they excite you, my dear: So young and volatile in their uniforms, so handsome and alluring when they praise your name?_

The Witch's voice resounded in her head, actually frightening her for it had been quiet for hours in her mind. Azkadellia caught her breath upon realizing it was just her mentor speaking, worried for her. She feigned a smile and proceeded to explain how she had no interest in any of the fine specimens present tonight. The Witch knew better though.

_Your mind has begun to wander, my dear. You no longer listen with full conviction, but fantasize about other things instead. _

Of course the Witch was observant – she knew all of Azkadellia's thoughts and doubts, and often calmed her raging mind, giving her peace from her insecurities. However this was the one matter Azkadellia had almost wished to keep a secret, despite their special bond. The Witch had forgotten all about mortal pleasures decades ago, but the body she inhabited had its needs and insecurities – Azkadellia was still very much alive and curious of her own sexuality.

"Sometimes I wonder… what it is like to hold onto another person at night," she confessed, whispering her silent need aloud. These thoughts frightened her somewhat seeing how it'd ended up last time she had allowed herself to care about someone. How her family had excluded her from their midst and tried to forget about her altogether. She never wanted to feel like that again.

_You're lonely my child. I can understand that. You have questions I cannot answer. _

The Witch always treated her well, almost lovingly. Her voice was kind and sweet, and it made her feel safe. This disembodied deity inside her was the only person she trusted completely. Her support meant everything to Azkadellia, and opinions not based on the Witch's consult were extremely hard for her to understand and embrace. It was the gentle voice of the Witch that gave Azkadellia her power – without that voice she often felt lost.

"I've started dreaming. Torturous long dreams of skin, sweat and intimacy. I wake up soaked in sweat," Azkadellia explained, remembering the countless times she had rolled around in her bed at night, trying to understand why her body wasn't wearied down by her long hours of work, but instead charged up and energetic.

"I don't know how to stop it," she whispered.

_I do. _

The Witch's voice carried in it a trace of a smile. Azkadellia had been with her for so long that she actually recognized her emotions without seeing her face. The Witch's voice was the only way for her to peer into her thoughts and know anything about the passenger inside her, so she had learned every tone of voice and rhythm of speech, in an effort to understand her mentor better.

"Tell me? I'm going crazy, and I don't like it."

_You need to get this frustration out of your system, my dear. Go back inside, pick one candidate who you think is worthy of your attention, and give him a night to remember. _

The Witch actually laughed heartily – there was nothing vicious evident in her voice. It was the advice Azkadellia didn't like. Submitting into her desires would mean loss of control. She didn't like to feel powerless; she wanted to have the reins of her own destiny in her hands at all times. This was one of the reasons she loved to tease them and give them nothing. Actually letting someone to get so close was a thought more distressing than suffering from this condition longer.

_There is power in everything. You've just never wanted to discover it. Azkadellia, you can be in charge of your emotions and enjoy it at the same time. Pick a young and weak specimen to fulfill your desires with and then send him on his way. You don't have to give anything; you can simply take what you want. _

Azkadellia thought about it, imagined the countless young men she'd seen in the lavish celebration yielding underneath her. She couldn't even count with her fingers all the men that had given her seductive looks tonight. It wouldn't even take effort to pull one along with her for a little joyride. Yet something worried her, something made her uncomfortable.

"Will you be asleep tonight? Will I have privacy to indulge myself in my needs?" She asked, truly concerned that the answer would be no. She rarely asked for privacy, because they shared everything, but this was one of the things she did not wish to share. An exception to the rule, where the Witch would save her if something went wrong. She couldn't take the embarrassment this time – even if she fell, she didn't want her performance to be compensated. Azkadellia just couldn't slide into the background and watch the Witch perform perfectly where she had failed.

_I do not wish to linger either way, my darling. Intimacy is as foreign to me; I no longer crave it nor do I understand it. You will have your privacy, I promise. _

Whenever the Witch slept (as Azkadellia called her hibernation) it always started with a wave that passed through her body, washing it clean and making it light. She felt exhausted for a minute as the blood drained from her fingers and face along with her passenger. Then she breathed in deep and was as good as new.

Azkadellia rarely did anything special during this time, usually just continued onwards as if the Witch was still been around. She barked commands as usual, plotted, planned and governed her troops and kingdom with every ounce of knowledge she'd been given during her tutelage. Most of the time she merely felt lonely and was unable to connect with any of her subordinates, thus looking forward to the time that she could speak with her only equal again.

She felt guilty for feeling relief that her mentor wasn't present tonight, but her relief faded quickly when she realized that the reason she didn't want her around tonight was that she was already embarrassed: embarrassed of her weak body and mind that needed such trivial things for satisfaction. She actually craved for the same indifference her mother-figure had: the ability to rise above the trivial and mundane and live on a whole other level of existence. But she was incomplete – she was _human_ – and right now she needed to quench this lust that dwelled in her stomach.

Azkadellia rarely wore red, because the color was too bright and emotional in her opinion, but tonight she'd been instructed to pick something ravishing and something red. She drew gazes towards her, and she simply oozed satisfaction and sex. The bodice was tight and emphasized by a slinky black corset that really showed off her cleavage. The dress was shorter on the front, but the hem reached her ankles around the edges and behind her.

While she usually looked like an iron maiden with an iron grasp, she now looked like a nymph from the woods, ready to draw everyone under her power and into hell with her. Even her bodyguards were having trouble concentrating on their duties as she mingled with the crowd and kept an eye open for possible candidates. Strangely though she always found fault in them: too tall, too short, too needy, too humble – the list of excuses went on and on.

She had enjoyed the gathering though; there was plenty of wine, and she bathed in the adoration of her subordinates. Even if she was a feared and hated queen outside these walls, she was fully loved and worshipped inside them. Slowly she lost interest in the game of hunter and the hunted and merely observed people in hopes of catching something to hold against them at a later date. Nevertheless, there was a lot of fornication going on without her.

She'd made sure the party was full of loose women and men and social lubricants to make them even more willing. At one point she could swear a party of her Longcoats had talked one of them into leaving with an escort, and she hadn't seen either since. She was pretty sure the Longcoat had been one of her youngest recruits too: a boy barely past puberty.

Once again her mentor's plan had worked beautifully, and Azkadellia could congratulate them both, as she sat quietly by the table, caressing her wine chalice and listening to her generals entice company for themselves. She took another sip of her drink and glanced outside of the window. The moons were full outside and quite captivating to behold. The party was still going on full-force, despite the fact that it was way past midnight.

Azkadellia didn't expect to see anyone rise up early tomorrow either, as some had already gotten ridiculously drunk and would undoubtedly need a day to recover their alcohol poisoning. She just hoped it was all her soldiers were ingesting, for vapors would simply end up ruining her promising recruits, and the damage they did was pretty much irreversible.

It was then that her gaze fixated upon a man sitting in the corner with his comrades. He was entertaining two women sitting on his knees, but unlike his comrades he appeared to be rather sober despite the many empty cups of wine that were at his feet. She observed the women – trash obviously – hanging onto him, trying their best to please him. He played along brilliantly, but she could tell he wasn't as taken by the pre-paid company as the rest of her Longcoats were. There was something in the way he looked at them and calmly rearranged his dirty blonde hair that one of the cheap women had ruffled.

She caught the thought that had escaped earlier, finally placing her finger on that something that had attracted her attention to him; he seemed to indulge the beverages and gifts she had arranged for pure respect and duty – not because it was something he would've paid for himself. Azkadellia felt a smile creep onto her face and hid it behind her chalice as she took another sip.

"Who is that man?" She asked, immediately gaining the attention of the subordinates who had gathered around her in hope of bathing in her glory. Many guided their attention towards the man she spoke of, shrugging as they did not know the answer to her question, but one man knew the answer quite well, the General of her Longcoats.

"That is Adrian Crux, Sorceress. Although he is more commonly referred to as 'Zero', which is a nick name from his days as a Tin Man under your mother's rule," he answered, providing her all the answers she'd wanted. Azkadellia observed this 'Zero', a man over ten annuals her senior. His appearance pleased her eye and his attitude pleased her even more. He was clearly a man in his prime, honed by his training and experience, but she couldn't quite grasp why he was here.

"Surely he is not a loyalist to my mother?" she asked, turning her gaze at her General, actually causing him to straighten up and become more focused. He was one of the few people she liked beyond their use to her goals, seeing how he had betrayed her mother in order to join forces with her. General Leon was ambitious and didn't fear taking risks, but despite all of his good qualities, he seemed to live for nothing else than war and conflict – He thrived on it.

"No, your Majesty. He was dismissed from your mother's servitude and became embittered towards her ideals. That is the reason he was easily recruited onto your service," Leon explained, sensing that she didn't need more answers from him. Her gaze had drifted onto Zero again, and she seemed thoughtful, somehow elusive, which was highly unlike her.

Azkadellia liked this 'Zero'. He made her stir when he smirked and whispered something into his playmate's ear. His hands were caressing the darker escort's bare shoulder, while he just smiled to the other escort and listened to her talk. The darker escort then handed him another chalice and helped him drink from it. At this point, while Zero was distracted by the wine, the other escort was stolen from his knee by one of his comrades and carried away on his shoulder. Zero was left gazing at the woman still sitting on his knee – he had such a sinister glare.

But he was not easily maneuvered toy her mentor had advised her to look for; he was a grown man, one that knew the full extent of his charm and power. He both frightened and excited Azkadellia, and honestly she had never reacted this way to another person. Just looking at him aroused her, made her feel hot and cold at the same time. Her thoughts jumbled and became messy, but her eyes remained locked on this man and his plaything.

She couldn't quite imagine sitting on his knee or even cooing to him. She'd never needed to fool anyone into wanting her, but with him she wasn't quite sure of her allure. As pathetic as it was, she actually hoped he would've glanced at her even once to give her a hint of how he saw her. The Witch would've instantly known whether these thoughts were madness or a plan worth executing, but she didn't have her consult right now. She was alone, and it made her feel uncomfortable and brave at the same time.

Azkadellia drank her chalice empty of wine and denied a refill. The long heels she wore were starting to exhaust her feet, and she needed rest from all the standing and social interaction. Also she needed a moment to gather herself before she put her plan in full motion. The people around her were alert, clearly aware that she was about to leave and simply waited for the announcement. It felt good to know she was still the centre of attention.

"I must take my leave now, but I trust you are all in good hands," she spoke kindly, referring to the escorts everyone had picked for themselves, and she was bowed to in unison as she put down her chalice and made her exit. Somehow tension had vanished from her body, even if she was a bit vexed and frustrated. She stopped to whisper something into the ear of one of her bodyguards though, and a smile emerged on her lips once she was done.

* * *

Zero caressed the cheek of his escort almost gently. She was a sweet girl, despite being a bit. She'd been on his case for hours now, attempting to weary him into giving in. Somehow knowing these escorts were a gift from the Sorceress didn't exactly arouse him though, seeing how they had already been paid for and were just all trying to find customers to justify their pay. These women weren't interested in him or his comrades in any true sense – there was no draw involved in this, even if it would be nice to relax in her arms sometime before dawn.

This was a comfortable way to pass time though, and he fully intended to enjoy this celebration that had been thrown in their honor. Most of the Longcoats feared and adored their Sorceress at the same time, whereas he was mostly curious. She seemed untouchable and invincible, like a force of nature that was beautiful and dreadful at the same time.

He admired her intelligence, her goal-orientation, but could not tear his eyes from her when she moved amidst her troops either – especially tonight when she was just oozing determination and lust. Sure, she was young, but she had already achieved more than most women ever would, and somehow she seemed mature beyond her years – nothing like the innocent princess he remembered her as.

His companion demanded his attention again, giggling and teasing him by moving her hand up his inner thigh. It felt good, inflamed the vine that travelled his veins. He needed this after the messy year his Queen had spent beginning to build her empire. Putting down rebellion and executing traitors all around hadn't really reaffirmed his calm, and it had slowly crept into his dreams as well. He hadn't found peace even with his usual women, and had actually ended up sleeping alone more than he'd have thought.

Yet it felt good to carry a badge again, to have a purpose greater than him. The Sorceress had given him this, and he wanted to pay her back in full – after all he was really a loyal man, despite being what some had called _a mad dog_.

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly when a man appeared in front of him, addressing him by his name. "Adrian Crux?" the messenger asked, looking straight at Zero, who lifted the escort from his lap and rose from his chair.

"Yes, I am," he responded, knowing immediately this was important. Perhaps something was going on, and they were gathering the forces that were still somewhat sober? The thought amused him, knowing how he'd have passed out by now for certain if he was ten annuals younger.

"The Sorceress requests your presence at her chambers," the messenger announced. He seemed void from emotion and didn't express surprise even the slightest bit. Perhaps she had been doing this all evening, Zero wondered.

"Why?" he asked, curious as to how he'd even gotten noticed by the most important woman in the O.Z. He had seen her stare at him quite devotedly awhile ago, but had assumed she was simply deep in thought or observing someone else from his party of Longcoats. Now as he thought about it, evoking the memory of her gaze, he did realize she had seemed rather intense. His curiosity was piqued.

Yet his question was not answered, and the messenger simply looked back at him blankly. Clearly he had no idea why the Sorceress had called for Zero. Zero glanced at the escort by his side and found her pouty look of disappointment just amusing.

"I'm sorry," he said, feigning regret, "But you will have to find someone else to fill your quota. I have other duties."

Smiling, he stepped past the disappointed and hurt escort, and began following the messenger who was apparently instructed to lead him to his destination. No wonder there really, because security was extremely high near her quarters, and no one was allowed through without access. Zero had heard of cases where ignorance had caused a great deal of hurt to even high ranking officers who'd attempted to meet her without an appointment. That was their Sorceress – a cold bitch, who didn't let anyone pull her strings.

The messenger guided Zero away from the party, to the elevator that went to the higher levels of the tower. The Sorceress had an entire floor to herself, though it wasn't the top floor due to security reasons. Zero had heard her accommodations were quite lavish and fitting for a queen, even if some had described her quarters stripped and generic. One Longcoat who had been there once had described it _soulless_, apparently meaning that there was no clear trace of her personality in her most intimate space. Zero had thought it was just bullshit meant to scare off the more inexperienced soldiers and keep the fear of the gods in them.

The elevator stopped at the designated floor, and the double doors opened before them, but the messenger did not step forward. Zero glanced at him, frowning as he was unsure if he was supposed to carry on alone. The messenger then extended his hand to motion Zero to exit the elevator, which he did. The doors closed behind him, leaving him alone in a long corridor.

Zero began approaching the door, surprised that there were no guards here. Then again he was rather sure that the Sorceress didn't let anyone to disrupt her privacy. Also he'd passed several check points that were full of soldiers and guards on alert – he'd simply been led through them by the messenger.

Zero reached the door and put his hand on the handle, hesitating momentarily. He hadn't even realized he was slightly nervous about meeting her. His Queen and Sorceress was a young woman, his junior by many annuals, and yet she had the power to make him tense, even when he was practically fearless. This was a curious find for him, and it froze him by the door.

He kept listening to his thundering heartbeat, trying to calm himself. Just a flick of a girl and she was able to excite him like this; it was _bizarre…_ Still she didn't exactly look the young woman she was, now did she? He imagined her in her red dress, the way her chest heaved and her mouth twisted to a sweet smile, that wild hair…

Zero turned the handle just to stop those torturous thoughts and force confrontation – after all reality always ended up being dull when compared to his fantasies.

He entered the private chambers of his Sorceress humbly, not really knowing what to expect. It took his eyes a moment to get used to the dim lighting before he could even look around. He did like the atmosphere there though: the large windows were covered by many layers of web-like curtains, there was very little furniture besides her bed and the dressing table and a smaller table with a few chairs around it. The room was definitely spacious, a sort of peaceful getaway that gave room to every thought and noise inside. There were no carpets, just the shiny marble floor that reflected his image.

The Sorceress stood by her dressing table, removing pins from her hair and unleashing silky tendrils over her naked shoulders. She was barefoot; her boots lay on the floor by her bed discarded, laces open and messy like victims of a passionate attack. His eyes were fixated on her neck that he saw close up for the first time. Young or not, she was gorgeous.

"You called, Sorceress." Zero broke the silence, knowing full well she'd realized that he was staring at her back by now. She lowered her hands from her hair-do, leaving it unfinished and partly still tied up when she turned to him.

"Do you know why I have called you here?" She asked, savoring this moment. He could now see her silhouette: the shapes of her hips and breasts and every other lovely curve. The sight did serious damage to his calm.

"No, I do not, Sorceress," he replied honestly, for he was still a bit unsure why she'd granted him such privilege. He knew he'd done good work as her Longcoat, but nothing worthy of special treatment or even acknowledgement. He was still finding his steps with his position, and didn't quite know all that being _the extension of her wil_' required.

"Your name is Adrian Crux, is it not?" Her voice was smooth, almost seductive. Yet she asked such simple questions.

"Yes, it is."

Azkadellia thought about it for a moment before returning to her unfinished work with her hair. She then began pulling out the pins again. He stood stoically at the same precise spot where he'd stopped when he'd entered the room. His entire focus was directed at her as she set the paste for their meeting like the cruel puppet master she was believed to be.

"But you have another name that is used quite frequently, don't you?"

He wondered where all of this was going, but couldn't quite see the bigger picture yet. She was an intelligent woman, famous for her skills of manipulation. He wasn't intent on falling straight into her trap, yet couldn't quite resist looking into the abyss she opened before his eyes.

"Zero, Ma'am."

She finally released the last of her hair and placed the remaining pin on the table, before she began raking her hair with her hand. It felt smooth and silky, and simply heavenly on her fingers. As a child she'd spent hours a week combing her hair, hoping it would one day be as beautiful as her mother's hair had been.

"And where does this nickname hail from?"

That certainly brought back memories. His whole history as a Tin Man flashed before his eyes, causing Zero's jaw to stiffen. They weren't all pleasant memories, but they were his never the less, and he couldn't undo what he'd done.

"_Zero tolerance_. It was my stand against the crime I faced daily when I was a Tin Man," he confessed, recalling the numerous colleagues and friends fooling around, calling him _zero tolerance_ after a passionate speech that showed how much he cared for the victims of the countless criminals of the O.Z. He'd wanted to weed them all out, no matter what the cost was.

"Why were you dismissed?" Azkadellia asked, finally feeling she was getting somewhere with him. Even though Leon had told her the short story, she wanted to hear it all from Zero himself. She wanted to know his weakness and strength. This knowledge was what she yearned for, already knowing subconsciously that they were alike.

"Police brutality," he responded, a hint of shame tainting his voice. "I responded to a call, and things got out of hand. My partner reported my behavior, and in accordance to the Queen's legislation, I was dismissed."

He had hated those rules, protecting everyone equally when in reality this system was abused by the criminals they were meant to catch. He'd seen terrible things and lost control. He acknowledged he'd gone too far, but it had been for the right cause! Yet there was no mercy for him despite his redeeming value; he'd been cast out and made into the very thing he'd hunted – a criminal. The one person he'd trusted had betrayed him, and he was still waiting to repay that betrayal.

Azkadellia turned to him and smiled viciously. She looked fierce and held onto her own brachium with such strength he was sure she would bruise herself. Yet amidst her passion he could tell that she was completely focused on him. His words had driven her into a thrall that was both frightening and inviting.

"You were a just man who made one mistake and was destroyed for it."She spoke as if she knew him, like she had caught a peek at his very core. Perhaps he'd revealed too much, given her a weapon against him? Zero discarded the thought quickly, knowing full well they'd shared a moment just there, understood one another.

She approached him now, that irritating tingling aflame in her fingertips and her chest. She felt that draw to him; there was an understanding between them. Both had known betrayal and lived through it. Both craved for power, for a purpose. She wanted to give them to him.

Azkadellia closed the space between them, and felt like a child standing next to him. Zero was a wolf clad in leather and equipment, while she'd stripped most of her attire, leaving on only the lighter clothing that gave her room to breathe. She could tell he was allowed to breathe in his uniform, that the uniforms were all the same and had nearly kept her from seeing him at all. For a year now this man had been just another Longcoat. She was anxious to change that for good.

"Can I call you Zero?" she asked almost innocently, allowing her eyes to wander across his face and body. She made a memory of his features, realizing how much he actually resembled the knights that had dominated her bedtime stories as a child. Even with his mistakes and alarming passion for his cause, he was clearly a man with pride.

Her mother had abandoned Zero for a single mistake, but she would embrace him for being human.

And even though he was slightly taller than she was when she wore no heels, she didn't mind looking up to him. He was handsome a man after all, a man with ideals and the capacity to see them through. It was only now that Azkadellia realized why she'd been unable to find a man to share her bed with; they were all without ambition, without true will. She needed someone who could respect her and disagree with her. And while she would shake in passion, she wanted the arms around her to be as strong as her arms were.

Zero smiled at her when he looked down to her beautiful face and inhaled her exotic scent of sweat, smoke and wine. The closer she unnoticeably inched to him, the more he felt the pull of his instincts; they wanted him to kiss her quiet. What had been just a dreamy fantasy was now becoming an unbearable desire that was within his reach. But alas, she was his superior, his Queen, and Zero wasn't born yesterday.

"I would prefer if you called me by my given name," he replied, wary of the game she was playing. He still wasn't sure what she was getting at, but wasn't going to risk his job finding out. The best solution for now was just stick to observing and admiring her – from afar. Some desires were simply never meant to be fulfilled. Also there was always the pleasure of his own hand. It was a less dangerous playmate at any rate.

Her expression changed, and she moved away from him, putting professional distance between them. Somehow his real name had vanished from her mind a long time ago. When she looked at him now, she only saw Zero who had disobeyed the rules for a good cause and gotten burned; Zero who might hate her mother just as much as she did.

"I think I will call you Zero," she announced matter-of-factly, aware that he had no power over her decisions. She could have him killed or thrown out any moment she wanted to, but she was more concerned with how to entice him. No man had been this evasive in the face of her kindness before, and she wasn't going to let him refuse this union.

Zero straightened his uniform as if he didn't even hear her words. His attempt worked though, drawing her attention to his body once again. He was stunning in that uniform, the leather clinging onto his fit body and giving it new dangerous texture; it was armor that wasn't meant to be pierced. He'd already taken off his gloves, but the jacket remained on, preventing her from touching his skin.

Azkadellia then tilted her head a bit and presented her next command, "Take off your jacket, Zero."

He smiled faintly at her and removed his jacket, slowly opening the buckles, and then pulling the jacket off him. He laid it over the chair by her dressing table and turned back to her. He almost felt bare without the protection of the leather, for her eyes were scrutinizing his form quite closely. He did realize there was admiration on her face though. Who would've known? Their Sorceress was actually taken by him.

"Now," she began and moved her hair from her back, "Would you open my corset?"

He followed her instructions, stepping behind her and bringing his hands to her back. He then began to open the laces that held the corset still. Once again he was closer to her than he would've liked, and watching the laces loosen up and reveal more of her delicious skin was proving rather tough for him. This was an act of intimacy in his mind; he'd rarely bothered to undress his women with such care. It also held a deep symbolic meaning, the opening of these knots that kept her armor in its place; he almost believed she wanted him to see underneath it.

Zero managed his assignment eventually and removed the corset from her mid-section, dropping it on the floor. The red dress underneath still covered enough for the situation to be completely modest, but he was beginning to doubt her intentions had anything to do with being modest.

She turned to face him, bare and honest in the way she looked at him. It seemed to stir a reaction as he noticed her passion. He looked back almost like he recognized this flare in her.

"Am I your Queen?" she asked with a harsh and desperate voice that revealed her true vulnerability.

Azkadellia was angry that he was the only one who'd met with her qualifications, the only one who'd even begun to spark interest. She was angry he looked at her like he understood, angry that when he touched her it felt almost as good as touching herself. And while she was the most powerful woman in the O.Z, she was powerless before him, inexperienced and fragile underneath her basking character. She wanted and didn't want him to know all this at the same time.

"Yes, you're my Queen," he admitted, attempting to remain civil and keep his voice professional, but the admiration bled through. He was tired and his senses were fooled by the wine and the long hours. He hadn't had a peaceful night of sleep in an eternity, which was probably why this moment was so dreamlike in his mind.

"Don't lie to me… ever," she requested, placing her hand on his and bringing it to her lips. He moved his hand slightly, brushing it against her lips and then her cheek. Her skin was so smooth under his coarse skin. He could see she enjoyed his touch; how she wanted more and was silently begging him to move closer. She just couldn't say it aloud.

Zero withdrew his hand, disappointed and irritated with himself. "I will never lie to you," he promised, deliberately looking away from her lustful eyes. Then he moved past her with haste and reached for his jacket. This had gone too far already.

Azkadellia caught his intention, and the information caused her emotions to spiral into full-blown rage. She darted after him, taking his shoulder into her grasp and forcing him to face her again. She almost pulled Zero off his feet with her violent yank, and he needed to search for his balance for awhile again, still dazed as to what had happened. She grabbed his jaw inside her hand first, claiming his attention while her innocence vanished, and she looked like a demon again.

He tore her hand from his jaw and pushed her away. Zero rubbed the sore jaw she had clenched inside her hand as he watched her fumble backwards. It didn't take her long to regain her footing though, and when she did, her fist quickly flung through the air and connected with his cheek. The punch was violent and powerful, and it hurt like a bitch, only managing to enrage him as well.

He hit her back, launching a quick hit onto the corner of her mouth. The punch drew blood from her lips and opened up his knuckle. Zero prepared for another attack while she swallowed the pain, panting, only to realize that she wasn't attacking him when she sunk her hand in his hair, pulling his face closer to hers and kissing him violently.

Her blood was in his mouth, her taste was mixed with it, and it tasted like an aphrodisiac of wine and copper. Zero wrapped his arms around her, forcing her still as he invaded her mouth more fiercely than she had. If his punch hadn't bruised her lips, this surely would.

He was not a good man, though he had wanted to live as one. Deep down his desires had always been unsettling and he'd hid them in fear of condemnation. There was no fear of that in her presence though, for there was no telling which one of them was the beauty and which one was the beast. He was pretty sure there was no beauty in this relationship anyway.

She broke off his kiss to breathe and think. Azkadellia had never felt anything like this; she'd never lost her temper this way, never resorted to such tantrums to get what she wanted, but by the gods this was worth every ounce of pain his punch had given her. She threw her head back, enjoying his embrace and the wild look in his eye; there was that power she had craved for!

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked cruelly, while caressing her back. Azkadellia laughed at him, and kissed him again. Every touch he gave her almost made her cry and writhe in his arms. The way he sucked her lips and teased her tongue was heavenly.

"This is exactly what I've wanted since I saw you," she confessed, becoming a little devil that thoroughly enjoyed sinning and embraced her fate. She massaged his scalp with her fingers, twirling them into his blonde hair, disrupting his neat haircut once again. He didn't mind, just focused on kissing her harder.

Her flesh was delicate and pale, while his was hardened by work and age. He tore the shoulder strap of her dress, revealing her underwear and ruining her outfit, but neither of them cared anymore. She took a bundle of his black shirt inside her fist as she began walking backwards, pulling him in her wake. He saw the bed behind her, and followed her obediently, playing with a strand of her hair.

Her mouth curved into a smile when she finally sat on the edge of the bed and tore the front of his shirt, revealing his chest and kissing it. Zero smirked at her, and pushed her on the bed before she could enjoy herself too much. He looked down to her, while she lay vulnerable, inviting him on top of her. Then he followed her to the bed, crawling on top of her. Neither felt shy as they wriggled out of their torn clothes and tossed them aside. She wrapped her legs around his waist, buckling her hips against his.

The queen and his knight paused to evaluate each other, wondering whether this was a step worth taking. Zero hesitated; she was dangerous to his calm; she made him into the man he hadn't wanted to become after his dismissal. He could tell she would be trouble; that she would end up owning his soul. After this he would never be Adrian again, just her Zero.

"Do I scare you?" she asked, moving her fingers across his cheek that she'd punched. He flinched a bit, that spot was still sensitive. A bruise would form there, a constant reminder of how she wouldn't let the things she played with go against her will. Maybe even he couldn't grasp that Azkadellia and the Sorceress were two different people – hell, maybe he didn't even want Azkadellia.

Zero snorted at her, brushing a lock of stray hair from her face. "No," he announced firmly.

* * *

The older Azkadellia looked at the two sleeping figures on the bed; their limbs were entangled together along with a blanket, and the sheets that had been swept from their proper place by their fierce lovemaking. There were bloodstains all around them, even smudged on his thighs, although the sheets had drained most of it eagerly. Evidence of her lost innocence was scattered across the room that usually showed no signs of even being inhabited. Somehow it had made her feel like home there; he'd made it feel more like home.

Azkadellia still didn't understand it. When she looked at the younger versions of herself and Zero laying there their faces were void from distrust, fear and anger. They looked like any other young lovers, resting comfortably after the exhaustion of their tryst. And despite the roughness of the way they'd handled each other, there was something kind and gentle in the way they were huddled together in their sleep.

Zero had noticed her inexperience, held her close when he'd whispered that it would hurt. He'd told her to keep her eyes open, and he'd never taken his eyes from her either. The pain had been numbing, almost enough to cancel the sweetness that his touch spread through her body. He had enjoyed it fully, surrendered to her charms and allowed her to experiment and practice. It hadn't been quite as good for her, for their lovemaking had reformed her body, giving it new dimensions and experiences she hadn't quite been able to grasp yet, but she had exhausted herself with him and had lain in his arms sated and tired.

She still remembered every detail of that night, still compared every encounter she'd had to this one. Over the years her talents had grown, and she'd found what made her tick, but no touch had set her aflame quite like his. She didn't understand why things had fallen apart with Zero, when she could so clearly see the budding love on his face as well. He moved in his sleep, restless and anguish, but when he felt her next to him, the demons in his dreams relinquished him from their grasp and let him be.

He'd been her first love, someone she had never stopped waiting for. Azkadellia wanted to walk up to the sleeping couple and shake them violently awake from their sleep so she might ask them why they had been so blind.

Had they really been so blind to each other's feelings, the way they so obviously fit together perfectly? How Zero nestled her in his arms, even as he slept and refused to let her go. How they had danced their dance of madness all night, drunk in their ecstasy. How he had done everything to ease her pain, to make it as good for her as it had been for him.

Looking at the younger version of Zero, untainted by the evil he'd done and still his dashing self, she realized she was probably the only one who even knew this side of him anymore. In her memory he was the person she'd secretly respected and admired before things had gone to hell, and that admiration was still a ghost in her mind whenever his sentence was brought up and people began listing his crimes. She couldn't see him as a monster, just her Zero.

Then she realized younger Azkadellia was rising from her bed, apparently awake. She had to frown at this sight, for her memory held no recollection for this. She'd slept all the way until dawn and woken up to find her bed empty.

It became quickly clear that it wasn't Azkadellia who was doing the driving though, for the young woman moved too gracefully, almost glided forwards. Her cold expression was inhuman, completely emotionless when she stood by the bed naked, running her hands across her body. Soon she'd smudged her fingers in the blood that was still dripping down her thigh and brought them before her eyes. Her eyes narrowed, and her cruel expression was then aimed at unconscious Zero.

The Witch had taken control of her body while she slept, and she was thinking how she ought to handle the situation, Azkadellia realized in horror. She stepped forward, raising her arm to strike the possessed version of herself down for good, but despite her strength and conviction her hands only flew through the apparition, as this was all just a mirage within her mind, a memory she could not touch or change anymore. Her face became twisted by rage, and she tried to hit the Witch again and again, only increasing her sense of powerlessness as the play continued despite her efforts to stop it.

She'd never witnessed this hidden history, but having to watch it now filled her with anger and despair, for she knew exactly where this was headed. Tears fell across her face as she watched the possessed Azkadelia of her past slowly dress and straighten her hair, before walking back up to her lover. Zero was shaken awake, and though his first reaction was bewilderment, it was replaced by bemusement when he realized who it was that stood by him. He instantly lowered his shields, and his expression softened.

There was nothing soft in the way the Witch greeted him though, as she pulled the blanket from his naked body and announced with irony conviction, "I think it's time for you to leave."

Doubt visited Zero's face, and he sat up, examining her as if he didn't believe his ears. "No cuddling?" he asked, still thinking this was a misguided attempt to keep their tryst a secret. He'd seen her play the iron maiden before and probably assumed she was craving to be tamed again.

The witch simply picked up his clothes from the floor and threw them on his lap. "You have pleased me greatly, but it is your time to go now, and remember your place," she explained, her whole being radiating superiority and pride. The Witch stood proud and managed to look like a true Queen, even as she was only wearing a black silken morning gown.

Zero embraced her words with surprise, not even realizing her whole demeanor had done a drastic u-turn in the matter of hours. Nothing was left of the Azkadellia who'd courted him and seduced him. This shell of a person, this ancient evil that had taken her place in secret, was destroying everything they had built and with such little effort! All that had been needed was to make him angry.

Zero pulled on his underwear and his pants smoothly, while the Witch watched him do so with a glazed expression. She didn't move; you had to observe her very closely to even catch her breathing.

After he was more decently dressed he walked up to her. "I was good enough for your bed just now," he said, trying to find her again and somehow fix this. Nothing got through though, seeing how no one was home. The Witch looked back at him like he was not even there.

"Leave," she replied, succinct in her approach.

"Azkadellia," Zero even raised his voice while trying to reason with her, but he was shot down by the Witch.

Her eyes suddenly gained awareness and were set on fire by the insult he'd given by not calling by her title. Her hand flung through the space between them, grabbing his throat in a strong grip that left him gasping for air in shock. She then opened her mouth in order to suck the life from him for opposing her rule. Zero's eyes widened in horror as he knew very well what was happening; he had seen her live executions before.

Azkadellia screamed, her cry exited her lips as a muffled noise that neither Zero nor the Witch could even hear. Her body shook as she began to weep uncontrollably. She saw every second of Zero's torture by her own hands and couldn't even turn her gaze, because she was unwillingly captivated by this sight. She remembered the hunger and the satisfaction that had come with feeding, and it clutched her insides even when she cried for Zero.

A beautiful haze moved from Zero over to the Witch, but it was only the smallest cloud; she stopped almost as soon as she'd begun. It had been a demonstration of her power, just a reminder of who he was dealing with, and he understood the message as he struggled to breathe on the floor where she'd left him. His face was flustered and red, and his hand was rubbing his own throat. Above all he looked humiliated and defeated.

The Witch's soulless eyes looked down on Zero, while her mouth smiled viciously. "You will call me Sorceress," she said to him before walking straight past him and to the window. Zero didn't call after her, he just sat there mutely, his whole world rearranged by this single encounter.

As Azkadellia knelt on the floor to look at him, thankful that he was even alive, she saw the seeds she'd planted earlier die in him. Kindness vanished from his face; he no longer observed her playfully or with admiration, he just sat there staring at his own reflection on the floor. He'd ventured and looked into the abyss, finding beauty without an equal, but also ugliness he'd never known existed, ugliness in both himself and in her.

Zero gathered his things quietly, leaving without a word. He glanced at the bed briefly, clearly in pain, before he exited the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Whatever he had discovered in her had vanished as quickly the Witch had taken charge and showed him his place.

Azkadellia herself was still sitting on the floor, unable to grasp any of this. A few hours from now she would wake up alone in bed, finding no sign of Zero and no explanation for his absence. She would hear her mentor's voice in her head and trust everything she said. The Witch would talk to her about the evil that men did; how they only sought to fulfill their own pleasure, and cared none for the women they used. She would say Zero was such a man and that his apparent absence only worked to strengthen this assumption.

Young Azkadellia would forget about everything she had seen and heard, inflamed by guilt and hurt by this abandonment. She would yell and cry and tear the curtains from the windows. She would also learn to separate her lust and her emotions, _wiser_ by this experience. And the Witch would've taught her the lesson she'd wanted to teach; that no one else deserved Azkadellia's trust but her.

Azkadellia shouted in rage, knowing very well no one could hear her here. Yet it helped to get it out of her system. She'd known her mentor had betrayed her and used her. She'd known she had been manipulated through-out her reign as queen and several years before it. But she had never realized just how far the manipulation had gone, how much the Witch had put time and effort in making her think she was the one in control when in reality it'd always been the Witch.

The room around her began slowly dissolving into darkness, reminding her of the true situation. She was still inside the Coffin and this was her test. She needed to see everything and show everything to her host in order to be sentenced. If that meant reliving all the pain and suffering she'd caused she was okay with it, but reliving all the pain she'd been through was tougher, for the first time had almost destroyed her already.

Azkadellia hugged herself, hoping she could turn back, but she knew that was no longer possible. The test would continue and the truth would emerge. Whether her soul was truly black or white, they would get to the bottom of it.

She might've been a coward in reality, but here there was no hiding from her sins and her mistakes. Perhaps she deserved to die here alone, never facing Zero and apologizing for picking him that night. Had she not approached him, he might've still been Adrian Crux, the man who made a single mistake, and not Zero, who'd lost count of his mistakes. He was her greatest sin, for she was his maker and the source of his tragedy.

TBC


	3. Asphyxiation

3. Asphyxiation

At first the sight opening before her eyes was blurry, unfocused. Then it began to sharpen and come together as the memory became more than grey smoke, something that was almost tangible. Colors melted into her surroundings, surfaces gained texture, and her senses began to work again; scents and smells were reinserted into the illusion, and then she also saw herself.

Everything bathed in the yellow and red light of the disappearing day, as the sun slowly descended beyond the horizon. The little rivers of rainwater that flowed across the streets reflected the setting sun, shining brightly on the quiet city below. It wasn't just the light that made everything red though; the countless bodies that lay by the streets had also bled into the rivers of rainwater and pooled on the street walks.

A massacre had taken place here.

Azkadellia stood on a platform, observing the unrest below. Just a few hours ago she had been planning to make speech here, to talk directly to the vermin she ruled over and try and find some common ground. Displeased with her rule, the ranks of the rebels had been steadily growing through-out her reign, and she had found herself facing a wall with her unwavering politics, so she'd made an attempt at meeting the people half-way.

A plan had hatched in her mind. She had offered the people one of the things they had been demanding for; the return of a republic instead of her cruel monarchy. She'd planned to reinstate the senate – well those of the old bureaucrats that she hadn't executed yet – and make it into a tool that would calm the minds of the people. The Witch had listened to her suggestion eagerly, proud of her student, and her praise had been unlike ever before. Of course Azkadellia wouldn't have given away an ounce of her power, but if the show would've helped keep the unrest at bay and maybe stabilize the situation somewhat, she had been willing to play along.

Too bad the rebels hadn't quite felt the same way despite her generous offering, as the place of her announcement had been a fair held in her honor. She'd invited several key members of the open resistance against her in attempt to offer her hand to them as a gesture of peace. The sheer amount of attendees had surpassed her hopes quickly as families had gathered to witness this event, just as well as drifters, merchants, and travelers. The city had been brought to halt by the splendid shows and the exquisite parade she had attended herself.

However by the time they had gotten to her speech, things had exploded into her hands quite literally. Some of the more militant rebels had attacked during her speech, and turned her peace gesture into a battlefield with many casualties – Even Azkadellia herself had almost ended up being one.

Her stare was grim now as she looked at the swift on-site executions of the ones responsible for the massacre. Young men and women were brought to their knees on the muddy ground and then shot to death one by one. She didn't care anymore if showing no mercy to these killers would be another case on her critics' long list of things she was accused of. Betrayal should be rewarded with instant death; there were no extenuating circumstances, no mercy.

She'd gotten injured in the attack; a stray bullet had grazed her just enough to create a burn on her side, a burn that was a constant reminder of what weakness was rewarded with, a spit on her face. The wailing of women and men had been reduced to quiet sobbing in the crowd, but the cries of pain had died hours ago. Only the embittered viewers who had lost family members in the attack had remained here, knowing she would punish the guilty swiftly. Under normal circumstances shouts of protests and the fear of riots would've disturbed the executions. However this attack had spared none, even if it had been directed at her.

Another body fell into the mud, useless now that a bullet had taken the life from it. She didn't even flinch when she heard a gunshot anymore; carrying the crown all these years had made her ears accustomed to the sound. She'd witnessed more executions than she even cared to count. There was rarely any courage in the people who'd sworn their lives to a cause and thought it was worth dying for. Most men begged for forgiveness, some resigned from life mutely, though despair was visible in their eyes. The song remained the same though; death was something to be feared, and in its face you could finally see the true self of the person facing it.

The burn on her side ached, but she didn't even cover it with her hand, let alone heal it. Healing wasn't really her specialty, for creation had never come to her as easily as entropy had. Though she was quite good at controlling the elements, healing was one effect she'd never mastered. Now she almost wished she had studied healing just so she might've cured the burn with ease in front of this scum and show them she was immortal as far their pathetic attempts against her life went. Things weren't that easy though, so she just stood there observing them coldly and taking pleasure in knowing these traitors would never again threaten her.

Heavy steps approached her, but couldn't draw her gaze away from the faces of her enemies as they begged for their lives. She already knew who was coming though; her body still reacted to his presence by becoming alert, and it only happened with one person. Zero appeared next to her, beaten and bruised, and covered in dirt, but breathing vigorously and his face dominated by his trademark smirk. He had pushed her down, protecting her body with his when the chaos had begun.

Azkadellia recalled the chaos with mixed feelings, ashamed of how she'd frozen and how the action around them had blurred away as soon as she'd been in his embrace. Her eyes had lingered in his, and the short moment had stretched in her mind, resembling eternity. His forehead had already been smeared in blood and it had dripped down to her pale face from his. He had finally looked down to her and lost his ability to speak upon registering her piercing stare, even when he had fully intended to ask her something. Their thoughts – this unspoken bond that had always existed in silence – had remained unvoiced though, after an explosion shook the ground, and he'd pushed himself up.

He had begun the pursuit of the criminals, quickly putting her troops back in order, while she had still laid on the platform in shock of being wounded. Zero had barked orders with a hoarse voice, somehow separating the aggressors from the panicked citizens as he directed the men to chase after them.

Of course her mentor had claimed control of the situation quickly, and made sure everyone knew of her rage. The city itself had trembled in the grasp of her earth spells, knocking every living creature down from their feet. The sky had become blindingly bright, nearly scorching the eyes of the survivors, while she had seen through everything clearly. In her anger she had nearly turned the air into poisonous gas, tapping onto every last ounce of power she and her mentor possessed together.

Many had died, some being the assailants, some merely innocent by-standers. Revenge had tasted as sharp as the blood on her lips, but Azkadellia hadn't been able to gain control despite her pleads. The witch had shown no mercy as she'd invoked her powers. Even a few of her own men had suffered terrible fates when they had tried to tell her she wasn't targeting the rebels anymore, but civilians.

Much of the time after this was still chaos. Her mentor's will had suppressed much of Azkadellia's memory. She merely remembered waking up in Zero's arms, covered in blood and mud, and feeling beyond tired. The witch had truly exhausted her powers while controlling her, and her voice had been reduced to a whisper.

_All problems solved, my dearest._

Now Zero looked tired and driven to the edge of his abilities. It'd been hours since the attack and this promising day had turned into a red afternoon when he'd begun executing their prisoners, knowing very well it was the only thing that would calm her rage. He'd known she was shaken and weak; that her rage had exhausted her strength almost completely. Slowly Zero had put everything on track, while her head had still been spinning.

This was all her fault. Azkadellia blamed herself for placing her trust in her subjects. She was accountable for the lost lives of her men, people who'd depended on her judgment and gotten killed, because she had wanted to believe peace gestures and empty victories were what the people needed, and because she had trusted in her mentor's ability to value the lives of her subordinates. But stronger than the guilt was the anger for being betrayed like this. She still craved for blood, whether she wanted to or not.

Her hair hung on her face like a group of snakes reaching out of their nest. Azkadellia looked nothing but vicious, truly a woman scorned. Over the years she'd begun looking more and more like a shell of herself even when the Witch wasn't in control. Time had only served to make her colder towards everything, and slowly the twisted ideals of her mentor had contaminated her fully.

There was beauty in her still, albeit a more tainted kind. While she was a cruel queen, she reminded Zero of a diamond in her cold and calculated appearance. Her brilliance had blinded many, but only the rare and few appreciated her for who she was, instead of what she was. Azkadellia had worn white today, a suitably neutral color for a peace offering. Now her clothes were stained in blood and dirt, and the ideal they had represented had also become tainted.

"You saved me," she called to him with a hollow voice. No gratitude was present like usually, just an empty voice demanding his attention.

Zero wet his chalked lips and swallowed the taste of smoke in an attempt to clear his throat. "It was my duty," he replied according to protocol, despite sensing how she might've been expecting another answer.

Azkadellia sneered at him, life returning to her suddenly. "You enjoy your duty more than anything else, Zero," she remarked snidely.

A part of her wanted to tear his affection for her into pieces and expose his soul, but another part felt comforted by his presence, by his trust and protection – sometimes even his support. She had never been able to completely discard him from her life, albeit still hurting him in countless other ways. Theirs had remained a strange relationship, one that her entire court had taken notice of.

Over the years her many lovers had attempted to use her emotions to gain access to power, and she had shot them down ceremoniously, usually giving Zero the pleasure of causing their disappearances. It was common knowledge that she was a tough leader, ready to reward true loyalty, but at the same time punish greatly for failure. Zero, while not even in her inner ring of generals and advisors, was the person she counted on the most. He succeeded where others failed, and had risen to a formidable position over the years as the second in command of her Longcoats.

Rumors spoke of a relationship between them, but it was clear to everyone's eyes that nothing loving existed between them. Their game did resemble a twisted courtship, in which she repeatedly made him prove his worth, rarely giving him any other reward than the faintest of genuine smiles or a stranded touch. Both had many lovers, but rarely held onto them for very long. It was a strange kind of loyalty, when no one else was allowed to the take other's place in their hearts.

Of course outsiders merely believed it was all professional, a loyalty deeper than love or devotion, something resembling an obsession. They had not shared a bed in eight years, but in every other way their relationship had continued existing and managed to strangely flourish.

Zero was a hated man for being so close to her without a reasonable excuse, but he didn't mind the solitude; he was a lone wolf anyway. Azkadellia had only promoted him when she had lost capable men from high places. Of course in her case, most had been lost due to their inability to do her bidding.

Zero smirked lazily at her comment, feeling his heartbeat stronger than ever in his chest. He too had been affected by this near-death experience and not in a way he'd expected; once more he wondered why she was still the only woman to penetrate his dreams and heart. He wondered why he was still her obedient dog after she had kicked him down so many times already.

He had changed since their last meeting, grown old and stained his hands in blood willingly time after time. She had been the catalyst of this change, prompting him to extract his revenge and cross that line of being a good man and being a bad man. It wasn't that he even bothered to think about the changes in them anymore, he accepted reality as it was and settled to look onwards. Their campaign of cleansing this land from resistance was still his cross to bear, and once it was done he knew there was nothing more to prove; then he could hand over her dream to her, and finally see her satisfied, like on that cursed night all those years ago.

"Without you I would be obsolete, Sorceress," he explained, quite honest for once. There was no place for him in a world not governed by her anymore; too many lines had been crossed willingly for him to return into being what he'd once been. So he stayed on this road, protecting her and waiting for her, perhaps for an eternity. He didn't mind though, as he didn't know if any other journey could've given him meaning quite like this one had. Even if he was chasing an impossible goal, just knowing that there was a chance at reaching it made him double his efforts.

The air was humid between them; a tired tension still existed here. The countless other arms she'd embraced during the years hadn't quite affected her the way he had. She'd tasted lean and tall men, almost as beautiful as she was herself, but found their presence tiring and their minds empty, even if she had experienced pleasure with them. Joy had been missing from her life for years now, that sense of belonging. She only felt it briefly when their paths had crossed, and he'd sworn his allegiance to her, leading her to believe she was not the cruel dictator she was made out to be.

"Yes, you probably would be a condemned man under another rule," Azkadellia agreed, her eyes shining with interest and life-force. This was a truer side of her, the one that remained open towards him even during times of distress. "But mark my words; As long as there is life in this body, I will never abandon you to such fate."

Her vow was given with honest conviction, and her voice carried no trace of malevolence. Such an intimate promise froze Zero for a moment. She'd never spoken such words before, never given him a clear hint of really caring for him underneath her pride and vanity. He didn't quite know what to say, his words were stuck in his throat, and his sense was struggling to think of someway of returning her kindness. He just couldn't come up with any.

Then the moment was already gone, and she turned away from him as the last gunshot sounded at the foot of the platform. Azkadellia strode away, leaving Zero behind bewildered and _stricken_.

She made her way towards the bodies that lay in the mud; it was a brutal sight, how the bullets had torn through their heads and stolen life from these healthy young bodies in just seconds. Azkadellia observed the stocked pile of bodies carefully while her soldiers saluted her, and the Longcoat in charge of the executions approached her.

"Sorceress, what should we do with the bodies?" he asked, still holding the smoking gun in his hands. He was one of her oldest Longcoats, but one that had never furthered his career, remaining just as he'd been back when he'd still been a young recruit.

"Toss them in unmarked graves in unholy ground," she snorted, still repelled by the sight of traitors and idealists whose ideals had done nothing but enraged her further. It was their fault she would soon gather her troops in order to smoke out the rest of their extremist group and hand them a quick death as well. The Witch had taught her to leave no enemy standing, and as much as she had wanted to avoid things coming to this, the matter wasn't in her hands anymore. Any sign of mercy would be weakness, and she didn't tolerate weakness from herself.

The Longcoat bowed to her before making his exit to begin the necessary preparations. Yet Azkadellia was in no hurry to leave the site of the execution, even if others were fleeing the site, repelled by the putrid stench the bodies were giving. She continued to observe the bodies closely; to burn whatever was left of the faces of her opposition into the back of her mind. The gruesome image was imprinted in her memory already, but she wanted to remember every last detail, so it would motivate her to avoid such mistakes in the future.

Her side ached again, making her apply pressure on the bleeding wound with her hand. Pain visited her expressionless face for a moment, a gasp escaped her lips. Then she looked at the bodies again, sensing the tiniest spark of life still residing within them. Azkadellia straightened her other arm in front of her, almost like she was reaching for the bodies near-by. Words that sounded like primal guttural noise were on her lips and then in the air, bringing unrest to those who still inhabited the site of the execution. All felt the change in the air, that morbid feel that replaced the tired sunset.

At first Azkadellia's words didn't seem to even have effect, but soon black smoke began to rise from the bodies. It didn't appear to be ordinary smoke though; it seemed clearer, almost reflective of its surroundings. Some claimed it shone a pale shine as it moved towards Azkadellia. The smoke twirled around her feet, slowly rising towards her torso, still seemingly more animate than ordinary smoke.

She was draining the residual life force from the bodies and using it to cure herself – so much was evident when the smoke began circling her wound and bruises, as if evaluating her condition. Then it moved through her skin, making her complexion unnaturally grey. You could see the smoke shine and move through her skin as the stolen life-force healed her. Her breathing had also become heavy with the exhaustion, yet her eyes were still as if she was in a trance.

Slowly new smoke no longer rose from the bodies, and the trail of smoke withered, and the sickly glow in her body vanished, leaving behind it a rejuvenated Azkadellia, whose skin practically shone. Her wound was gone and the little bruises as well. The smoke had even fixed her clothes, albeit coloring them black. Her eyes were fierce now, even if she was pleased.

The spell had captured the attention of many, including Zero, who'd never seen her use her magic this way. He knew she sometimes fed on the life-force of the living – he'd witnessed it first hand after all – but not that there was even anything to take from dead bodies. Her gift was indeed dark, ancient magic that only the witches of old had possessed in the long history of the O.Z. It had installed fear in him all those years ago, and every year his fears had been enforced by her actions. By now she'd become more powerful than he'd ever even thought possible.

But she stood alone atop that pinnacle of power, and gazed down on the mortals that lived beneath her, unable to understand their motivations or needs. Sometimes he did indeed wonder if there'd be anything humane left in her in another ten years, but he always buried the thought when a stranded comment or look reaffirmed his faith in her. If his gun was of service to her, he would still offer it every day.

Azkadellia turned to meet Zero's gaze. He was still standing atop the platform, looking down at her with a worried brow. She removed her hand from her side, revealing healthy skin where her wound had been. Relief seemed to wash over him, while the sight also tensed him somewhat. She smiled at him arrogantly, basking in his shock.

"Your efforts for your Queen will be rewarded handsomely tonight," she said to him, removing the gloom from his fine features. "Pick any companion for tonight. Your costs will be fully reimbursed," she then added, knowing his expensive taste.

Zero could've just as easily found women for himself without resorting to the company of escorts and whores, but he seemed to like to keep things strictly physical, sticking to his emotional distance. Of course these women were also trained in the art of pleasing men, so his money was probably well spent.

Azkadellia didn't quite know any other way to repay him for shielding her during the attack, so she chose to give him something he might actually appreciate, no matter how distasteful others might've considered the gesture to be. In her case it was one of the few things she knew he wanted and she had in her power to give him.

Zero, however, was not as thrilled as she'd thought. "Thank you for the offer, Sorceress, but I will have to pass," he declined politely, fiddling the gun on his belt restlessly.

Azkadellia tilted her head upon hearing his refusal, surprised and quite honestly curious. "Cheap wine and cheap women are not a reward good enough for you anymore?" She asked rather spitefully, aiming to frustrate him, to prickle his pride.

Zero approached the edge of the platform, his eyes fixed on her eye-catching appearance. He wasn't offended at all, just tired of her games. "I'd rather share your bed than fuck substitutes," he confessed grimly, sick of her degrading implications and accusations, when they both knew what he wanted was something he had no chance of getting.

Color seemed to drain from her face, and for a second a shadow lurked in her eyes. Then she just whispered, "Perhaps lady luck will favor the bold tonight."

With that comment Azkadellia made her exit from the scene, retiring for the evening. She was quickly accompanied by her personal maids that followed her around, making sure she lacked nothing. Zero watched her go and her newly appointed bodyguards slowly appear into view as he motioned them to follow her. They had planned to stay in this city for the night, so she must've been headed for her luxurious stay.

Somehow her final words had etched into the back of his mind by now and kept repeating again and again. Had it been an invitation?

* * *

The night was cruel in the intensity of its darkness. As Azkadellia peered out of the window of her bedroom several hours later, she couldn't make out anything in the darkness. The sky was starless, and an atmosphere of pure gloom hung in every room. She'd chosen to exclude herself from company and instead bask in the quiet moment she had without her mentor tonight.

The fight had exhausted the witch, and she needed to gather her strength. This of course, was accomplished simply by hibernating some days and choosing to be unconscious. Of course he mentor had given her every warning and half-spoken whisper against doing anything drastic while she slept, and Azkadellia had absorbed them all, but as the faces of the dead had haunted her thoughts for hours now, she knew couldn't sleep until this matter was solved. No rest waited for her at the end of the day, if all she could think was how angry she had felt and how this rage had almost swallowed her whole. For the first time in years she had actually known fear.

She had removed her robes and released her hair from the complex hair-do, and now that the mask of indifference and power was gone, she could finally gaze out of the window in her white nightgown and consider her options quietly, undisturbed by the false premise of her appearance. Nothing echoed in her thoughts, and after long years of having no space of her own, except these random days and nights, she truly appreciated the quiet. With her mentor she was never sure whose thoughts they had been and whose feelings she was feeling. Over the years their minds had begun to think alike; attitudes and emotions had melted into one, and it was getting harder and harder to tell them apart, whereas in the beginning the difference had been as clear as day.

Azkadellia ran her hand over her breasts, shivering when she touched her soft skin. It'd been a long time since her last lover, and she hadn't been eager to find another after the disappointment he'd turned out to be. She'd begun craving for intimacy soon after dismissing him, but had abstained from it against her usual custom. Now the raw need had grown into a formidable hunger she didn't quite know how to quench.

Zero's smirking figure returned to her mind as he dismissed her reward, and she smiled at the memory. He might've been a bastard, but at least he was able to excite her without even realizing it himself. His laugh, his dare and his devoted expression that worshipped her in the most complimenting way without being disgusting or weak in her eyes, these were the reasons he still haunted her thoughts when there was room in her head to think them honestly. She revisited their night together every now and then, comparing those who had come since then and always failing to find his equal.

Intimacy for the sake of intimacy felt good, but with him even breathing the same air had felt ecstatic. And even though she knew for sure she didn't love him, the physical fascination had remained and was still burning in her stomach. Everything was so complicated with him and simple without him, but she almost liked the complexity of their relationship more than some cut and chewed relationship that was predictable from day one.

She admired her own reflection on the window, finding that while she had grown into a woman and a queen, she still looked like that young girl who had lured him into her bedroom, and then proceeded to seduce him, despite knowing nothing about the art beforehand.

Someone was at the door, and the almost tender turn of the handle made her turn around to face the arriving uninvited guest. To her surprise the very person she had been thinking about had arrived into her room, entering it humbly and saluting her stiffly. Had she subconsciously summoned him here? Azkadellia didn't quite know, but she made her way towards him never the less. There was something curious about his worn appearance. Even his usually shiny boots were dripping muddy water all over her floor.

Zero had been patched up by one of medics, but his fun hadn't ended there, as he'd taken the lead in hunting down the guilty while the trail was still hot. For hours he'd worked tirelessly with his Longcoats, turning the city upside down to find the rebel scum that had dared to wound his Queen.

So far the search had been in vain, and eventually he'd left his men to continue the search and deliver his progression report to her. To his surprise, however, she hadn't refused to see guests, but the receptionist had in fact been instructed to let him in should he arrive. So when he'd entered the room and found her standing by the window, looking so pure and fresh, he'd forgotten all about his report and remembered her earlier words.

_Perhaps tonight lady luck will favor the bold_

She almost didn't appear to be a living person anymore – just a living statue, a deity with cold marble skin and vitality that was like a surreal aura around her. This beauty in her was inhuman, cold and calculated, but somehow tonight her skin didn't look as tight, and her eyes weren't as cruel. Her skin looked soft; it was almost inviting his hand to touch it. Zero forgot all about his unwashed body, and the stench of rainwater on his jacket and hair. He forgot his stature and callous hands, and lifted his hand on her cheek, caressing her face like an old lover.

The gentleness of his touch was unexpected, but once he started she couldn't order him to stop. His presence felt too good, like the long needed remedy for a disease she'd refused to take until now. She didn't even mind that his touch sullied her skin with dirt, despite just having washed herself clean from the dust and blood of this city and its citizens. Her throat felt dry, she tried to form sentences in her mind, but each stroke of his hand on her cheek made her lose concentration.

"You came," she finally said, knowing only now that her words had indeed been a subconscious invitation. Zero too recognized this in himself; there had been no need for any report, no, he'd come here to see if she had been for real. He'd come here for his reward.

"I would come every night if you'd let me," he confessed, moving close enough to press a warm kiss on her earlobe as he leaned closer. The front of his wet jacket wet her night gown, tracing the shapes of her breasts visible. The water, however, felt warm even when it made the wet fabric of her dress clutch her breasts.

"You think you would make an excellent king?" she snorted, knowing very well this had been the intention of many of the men she had bedded.

"There's no place for me in your spotlight, Azkadellia. I only live in your shadow," he murmured, strangely pleased with his place at her feet. But Azkadellia hadn't needed words to reaffirm this; she'd always known and trusted in it.

"Then serve me, Zero," she pleaded, her entire voice becoming soft and vulnerable as she tied her arms around his neck and kissed him. The kiss was deep, and it tore both of them out of reality and back into their own world, where there was no kingdom to be ruled and defended, and no pretense to follow. In this world they were simply two lovers meeting after years of being apart.

He devoured her soft lips and pulled her body closer to his, moving his hands across her nightgown, staining the light fabric, and making it embrace her skin. She loved the feel of his stubble against her cheek, the feel of his smirk when he pulled their lips apart to breathe. Azkadellia sunk her hands in his wet hair, bringing his lips back on hers.

She felt nothing short of divine in his arms. For once it wasn't just about his pleasure, but hers too. He existed to bring her calm and lull her to a rest without nightmares. He cared not if she'd shun him tomorrow – just that she had come to need him again tonight. Then he felt her hands slowly begin to pull his uniform apart. She opened buttons, pulled his zipper open, and released his jacket on the floor. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his comforting scent, and remembering how she'd missed it.

Zero kissed her silky hair, moving them away from her neck as he brought his face closer to it, landing a quick kiss there, before he began kissing her shoulder. She looked back up at his face, those mesmerizing eyes that worshipped Azkadellia, not the Queen, or the witch. He framed her face with his hands, smiling as they looked at each other for one extended moment. It all felt so surreal.

She took his hand in hers, bringing their entwined hands to her lips before she began pulling him behind her towards the bed. His boots still left a muddy trail as he allowed himself to be led. Outside it began raining, and the rain pounded the windows. Azkadellia sat on the edge of her bed, leaning backwards slowly, and laying herself on the mattress. Zero bended to open his boots, and he stepped out of them once the restraints were open. He didn't bother to undress any further, for her face was far too anxious.

He moved over her, careful not to place his weight on her. She began kissing him again, drugged by the sweet sensation this act brought upon her. It almost made her feel loved – a feeling she had craved for so long. However she knew quite well it was all an illusion. He was a bad man with an obsession, but it was all she deserved, and thus just about enough.

Zero felt like he was supposed to say something, something beautiful to her. But he knew nothing about that, and could only demonstrate his feelings through action. She was his to protect and cherish. Like he had told her, he would always remain in her shadow, not beside her. He wasn't worthy, but he would damn well please her however he could. As her creation, he'd given up everything else the day he let her forge him anew.

The passion between them was exhausting. Each kiss seemed to burn the air from their lungs, and each caress spread across their bodies like a disease. She would bite him, and he would hurt her back just enough to counter the violence. It was a strange way to make love, but it was what they both enjoyed. Zero couldn't recall the last time he had seen Azkadellia so relaxed and immersed in something. Her pleasure was breathtaking to watch, and it stroked his ego to know only he saw this side of her; only he made her feel this way.

He discarded his shirt, and tore her nightgown to have better access. She simply smiled, and pulled his legs towards her middle, slowly repositioning him. He didn't mind as long as she wasn't pushing him away. Eventually he found himself straddling her and realizing she'd positioned his hands on her neck. Confusion visited his thoughts, but her beautiful moans of pleasure erased those thoughts. So he began a violent rhythm, while her hands commanded him to tighten his grip.

Azkadellia watched from the sidelines as she made love to Zero, and tears fell down her cheeks. She saw clearly what Zero could not yet see; that this was a ruse of a desperate woman. Her throat began to burn from the bitter emotions, and breathing became harder as she watched Zero so happy and immersed in his pleasure that he did not see what he was doing.

Everything began to blur for the younger Azkadellia. While she felt loved and cherished by the attention of her lover, his iron grip was slowly killing her. She was barely breathing now, yet the hurt and the pleasure mixed into a pleasant cocktail. Nothing could alarm her mentor, and sweet Zero could only see what he wanted to see. This was her last task for him, to end her wretched life before it was too late.

As everything dimmed she thought about her sister, DG. She thought about her parents and the court she had broke down one by one. And then she thought about Zero again. He would be the only one to mourn her, wouldn't he? Yet somehow it was all so fitting; that he would be the one to kill her.

She winced as his grip grew even stronger. Now the pain was finally burning her throat worse than the pleasure could overcome. She was flirting with death eagerly and beginning to shake. She tried to hold onto her mask that told Zero everything was alright, but realized quickly the horror was filtering through as her face twisted in pain. A tear escaped her eye, and she begged he wouldn't notice, but alas it was too late. Zero withdrew his hands with an expression of shock and worry.

Her eyes were barely open, and her neck would probably bruise terribly, but she was still breathing. In horror Zero pulled away from her, and moved to her side to pick her up in his arms. Then her eyes flung fully open in rage, and she quickly stroke at his face with her hand. All the pain that she'd held back broke out of control and erupted into a violent scream. Her fierce eyes shot a blaming look at him as she forced herself to a sitting position.

"_Why_?" he asked, his shock overcome by guilt and anger. It hadn't been his care she'd wanted, he realized, it'd been his killer instinct.

Azkadellia pulled herself out of the bed. "Get out!" she screamed, yet Zero merely followed her, and forced her into his arms. He could hurt her, but he could never let her go. Not even if she begged for it.

"You have everything you wanted. Your kingdom is thriving. So why!" he demanded to know as he held the wriggling woman still in his arms. Excuses flung through her mind, but the burning truth eluded her. Why did death look so much like the lover she had been searching for? Why did she only feel hollow despair when her victory was so apparent?

"I'm worthy of being your executioner, but not your lover?"

His question hurt her like the bullet had. It tore her insides with wrenching power. And then she stabbed his chest with her nails, making his grip falter, and giving her the needed route for escape.

"Leave!" she shouted from the bottom of her lungs, only her voice came out as distorted. The pain in her throat made tears travel to her cheeks.

She was losing control more and more each day, she finally admitted to herself. Soon there would be a day when she would not wake up at all, and everything would be covered in darkness. She'd always known, but had chosen to ignore the truth about her bargain with the witch. The day of reckoning was approaching.

Zero no longer spoke. He picked up his shirt, and pulled it back on. Then he stepped back into his boots, and finally picked up his jacket and pulled it on as well. He ran his hand through his hair, and looked at her once more. He dress was torn, her cheeks wet from tears, and her hair was messy on her shoulders. She didn't look like the immortal Sorceress he worshipped anymore – this was the very mortal Azkadellia only he could see.

"As you wish, Sorceress," he simply said, and exited the room.

Sorrow stabbed Azkadellia's chest again as she looked at herself so torn and broken. Zero had been her only ray of light, but she'd known there was no hope even then. She'd abandoned him, and chosen to fulfill her end of the bargain. But at the time she had come to believe that her mentor was ubiquitous and all-powerful. She'd believed the witch was a goddess, and she herself merely a vessel. Now as Azkadellia looked at herself, she hoped she had stayed in Zero's arms, and let her knight protect her.

She wished she had been able to see that it wasn't obsession on his face, but love instead. Really if she was the wretched creature she believed herself to be, why did she still care for this despicable man? Of course she had tried to erase him from her mind by thinking he hadn't even noticed the change between her and the witch, but now more than ever she wondered where he was.

Azkadellia sighed. No, he couldn't be dead, she would know. He was still out there, perhaps hating and loving her the same way she hated and loved him. Maybe after all of this was over she'd still come to see him?

TBC


	4. Thanatopsis

4. Thanatopsis

She was standing in her old throne room, a place of judgment and fear. The décor was extravagant, yet somewhat frightening, which was something her subordinates were used to by now. The black marble floor reflected one's tainted image on it, as if bringing forth the darkness in them. These dark reflections were a quiet congregation that admired the powerful queen on the throne.

Slowly people also formed out of nowhere, and the reflections became less dominant. She had her advisors around her on the steps of the throne, and Longcoats were scattered across the room. Zero also stood amidst them, strong and unmoved by the events around him. Azkadellia observed his stoic profile, coming to the conclusion that he seemed very youthful and reserved. This could not take place in the recent years, so it had to be an older memory with Zero still fairly new in his position by her side.

She then gazed upon her younger self, finding that even though the young woman on the throne looked experienced beyond her years, she was still very much a child. This was some time after her first meeting with him. Her behavior had hardened the disappointed man in front her. It had also helped shape the merciless queen Azkadellia had become. One tryst between two lonely people had had this impact in both their lives. Yet Zero's transformation wasn't quite complete; she had stolen a part of him and given nothing in return, but an ugly obsession. It would soon mature into blind loyalty.

Younger Azkadellia descended the stairs that led to her throne. Her extravagant dress and its trail followed her steps almost weightlessly. As usual her hair was dressed in cold fashion, which only increased her inhumane beauty. A thin black veil covered her face, giving her subordinates no clues to her expression. She had a glimmering golden coat over her dress, and her hands were shrouded in gloves as she'd begun dreading human contact. Her encounter with Zero had made her unbalanced for awhile; an unhealthy fear for touching and proximity had emerged in his wake. She'd shrouded herself in shame, unable to admit anything, but also unable to hurt Zero in return.

Her mentor had suggested getting rid of the dashing Longcoat, but Azkadellia had objected. She'd known Zero's loyalty was hers now, and hadn't cared, whether she'd bought it through hate or love. She'd toyed with the idea of hurting him, fantasized in the corner of her mind about killing him, but eventually she'd known she wanted to keep him close instead.

"Zero," she called to him, as she passed him by without even granting him a glance. Zero stirred awake from his thoughts, and followed her with his head pressed down, thinking this was nothing out of the ordinary for his commanding Queen. Her court slowly dissolved in her wake, while she made her way towards more private courters.

Zero's steps trailed her – that familiar sound that she still heard even though no one walked behind her - forever imprinting into her memory. She didn't feel his gaze on her, but she knew he was avoiding looking at her. Like a moth he was drawn to the flame that burned him.

They reached their destination, and she motioned her bodyguards to remain outside the room, while she entered it with Zero right behind her. When he closed the door behind them, she could almost feel the tension in the room become overwhelming and simply hurtful, but she tamed that feeling inside and turned it into strength.

Zero finally allowed himself to look at her in her cold perfection. The picture wasn't quite clear, seeing how she hid behind the veil that sprouted from her headdress, but he could see more than most. There was no trace of the Azkadellia he'd become acquainted with some time ago. That tender truth of her vulnerable soul was gone and replaced with a being that glided through time and eternity – a Sorceress.

"Do you miss being a Tin Man? Do you miss the old O.Z.?" she asked, unable to look back at him once she became the center of his attention. Azkadellia fiddled with the strings of her coat and dress, and stared out of the window almost absent-mindedly. Her O.Z. would be better than the one before. She would renew everything with her purifying flame.

Zero hadn't expected such a question. Quite honestly he hadn't known what he'd expected from the woman-child before him. She'd enticed him, seduced him, and then thrown him out like he'd been a mere maggot disturbing her. Sure he felt anger, but also intrigue. She stirred him like no one before.

"There were good times, and then there were bad times," he responded cryptically, while removing his leather gloves. He then brushed the few strands of hair that escaped his neat hairdo back into shape, and smiled slyly.

"Does the abused dog miss its former master?"

Azkadellia peeked at him discreetly, smiling to herself. Her mentor kept pushing and pushing this issue with Zero, even when Azkadellia knew he could be a great resource. He had vision, and he followed without question. He had the means to solve problems, and lacked the pesky morals that would become an obstacle at some point for anyone else. He also had a hunger for revenge she'd be happy to quench. She would make him hers for good.

He might've hurt her, but he was in her leash. He was under her spell; she could see it so clearly. She could have countless lovers, but she probably wouldn't find another candidate so suitable to be her hellhound. "What about your former partner?"

Zero took a moment absorb her words. She was offering him something he had dreamed about for a few years now: the man who'd betrayed him and caused his downfall. His morals, his marriage, his home – all these things had become collateral damage when his partner had decided to report his behavior and destroy his career. The Queen he'd always thought to be so righteous had damned him. His wife had left him. He'd been an outcast, until he'd joined the Sorceress' side.

"I want to hurt him," he replied. It was the unadulterated truth. He no longer cared what was right and what was criminal, just that the hole in his chest was filled with something other than pain and bitterness.

"Do **you** want me to hurt him?" he asked in return, closing in on her slowly.

He observed her reaction closely, but she didn't even flinch as the distance between them grew thin. She finally withdrew her eyes from the scenery outside her sanctuary, and focused on Zero alone, almost forgetting her newfound dislike for proximity when she was standing there with him. The thought of being back in his arms was quite tempting. But theirs was a romance was over even before it truly began. It was better this way.

Anyone else might've considered his slightly confronting approach unnerving, but she faced the challenge eagerly, staring at him eye-to-eye from beneath her veil to Zero's surprise.

"I know where he is, and if you want I can tell you," Azkadellia admitted playfully. She was testing him now, although it was plain to see he would take this chance she offered him. It would cut the ties he still had to his past. It would unleash his potential. It would earn his gratitude.

"And what is the price, Sorceress?" Zero didn't dare to forget she was above him. Last time he'd made the mistake of thinking there was anything intimate between them, she'd nearly killed him. Yet the desire to call her Azkadellia had lingered inside him. He'd remembered her body and her laughter, and wanted to call her his Azkadellia again. But she was no one's; she only belonged to herself.

Azkadellia wet her lips, and motioned him to back off as he'd come quite close to her.

"I don't want you to kill him. I want you to use your imagination," she explained, knowing fully that death would be trite and easy to accomplish. If she wished to kill Adrian Croix in favor of Zero, he would have to transform for good.

What would he do; Resort to torture, kill his partner's loved ones, disfigure him, disgrace him, steal his memory, doom him in an unwanted life, or steal his freedom? Yes, Azkadellia had quite the imagination, and she was hoping Zero would demonstrate a gift of similar magnitude.

Something awakened in Zero: A silent outcry that this went against his muffled moral code, a sensation that he was supposed to be better than this. Yet the frozen maiden in front of him was handing him something he'd yearned for so long, so this moral outcry was quickly silenced. Besides the pinch he felt was the same pinch that had driven his friend to abandoning him. The moral code he had gone by was the very reason he no longer lived former life.

"And then what?" he asked, "I hurt him, and give myself to your servitude?"

His Queen nodded to him barely visibly. Her eyes were piercing into his core even through the veil that covered her face, evaluating whether he was up for the task that had been given to him. He was being tested.

"You close the book on your old life. Be Zero from now on. Be ruthless in my name," she explained, relishing the thought. It made her feel lightheaded, this dream she had of being Queen with him bound to her side. It wasn't quite love or simple lust. It was more like an addiction, an obsession. He hadn't left her thoughts for a day.

Azkadellia looked at herself and Zero from the sidelines, grieving in her heart. Her beloved mentor had taken her first love, and transformed it into something ugly, something truly hideous. The witch had whispered words into her ears, trying her best to weed the seed of infatuation from her, and when she hadn't succeeded, she had twisted those feelings into this. She could see all this now that she was older, and not so easily tempted. Her throat stung with intense pain, and her eyes were burning. With each vision the truth became more and more horrible!

Yet the Azkadellia from her memory looked at her knight, and removed the glove from her right hand. Zero dropped to one knee, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. They were soft and caressing when he kissed her hand, breathing his warm breath onto her cold skin. She shivered the slightest bit in response to this, blinking her long eyelashes in bewilderment. Then Zero let her hand go, and looked up to her face.

Azkadellia reached for the headdress, and opened the mechanism that was holding the veil on her face. She did this without rush, as if it was the most simple task in the world. Once she had removed the veil, her eyes quickly found Zero again. He looked into her eyes without fear or condemnation. For a moment he could see _Azkadellia_ again, instead of the ruthless ruler that was shielded from all directions.

Zero lowered his eyes, bowing before her. Then he stood up again. "My loyalty belongs to you," he told her, his mind clear from doubt. She had owned him since their first encounter. Perhaps the place by her feet would bring him heartache and despise, but who was he to say he deserved anything more?

Azkadellia was pleased. They shared something unique; she could feel it. She leaned closer to him, her youthful eyes on his as she whispered to him, "Wyatt Cain and his lovely family are currently-"

Older Azkadellia could not listen to any more; she bolted away from her young incarnation and the man she was destroying. Her steps did not echo on the marble floors, nor did she have a reflection. Everything was beginning to feel like a groggy nightmare of suffocation. She could almost feel Zero's hands on her neck again, squeezing the life out of her.

Adrian Croix might have as well been dead from that day onwards and it was Azkadellia, who'd killed him.

She stopped, taking support from one of the walls, and trying her hardest to pry the nonexistent hands from her throat that were strangling her. She was screaming now, shaking because of the shame and self-loathing that all of the memories had brought back to the surface. She was the real monster, not Zero or her mentor. She was the unspeakable creature that desired nothing more than the suffering of others.

And then the pain stopped and the hands retreated from her neck. She fell to the floor on her knees, weeping silently.

She stayed like this for awhile.

All she had wanted had been to protect DG, her kingdom and her family. She'd known her magic was powerful, but when DG had run off, the darkness had overcome her. It had poisoned her. Would she ever be free of that poison?

Everything was beginning to blur again, but this was a more violent transition; everything quaked, and the air was hot. Azkadellia squeezed her hands into fists, and bit her teeth together to survive. Perhaps this was the Coffin digging deeper into her mind, into the memories she had suppressed?

* * *

With an exhale, everything took shape again. She was in her throne room, sitting on the floor, and trying to keep out the pain. The air was still hot, and everything still felt as horrible as a migraine that wouldn't stop hammering her head.

On the throne, a lone figure was sitting and contemplating. She was dressed in fashion extravaganza. She was also old and bitter and hurtful. Azkadellia could hear her weeping alone on the throne. She slowly rose, and moved closer to this strange figure, quickly realizing that she was in another memory.

Younger Azkadellia sat there with her back bent, and her long black hair messy and unruly. Her lipstick was smeared all over her lips and face, and her cheeks were glowing. She'd carved at the throne with her nails and also at herself. She was beginning to shake.

An ominous voice resounded in the room, although older Azkadellia knew it was only in their heads.

_You will relinquish control, my child._

"No," the Azkadellia on the throne said with passion. "I'm the one who walks. You just talk."

Laughter was in the air, and it was quite spiteful.

_Dearest, you always knew this day would come. It is my turn to rule my kingdom, use my body and my powers. _

Azkadellia shook her head violently, sinking her nails into her thighs. No blood was drawn, but she did break her tights. She was hurting. Her body felt heavy, too heavy to lift and walk out of this room. Her beautiful dresses no longer made her feel beautiful. The people around her didn't even know her name. She had been just a tool for her mentor.

"It's my body," she said, tired of fighting the voice in her head. The witch had all the time in the world and she could only take so much. She was at her limits.

But she had done something right, hadn't she? She'd held out much longer than the witch had thought – Nearly a decade. And Zero wasn't here anymore; she'd sent him away so he wouldn't have to see this. She just hoped the witch would not kill him. He was a good tool too, so maybe she would keep him.

_Aren't you tired Azkadellia? Tired of fighting the locust and proving your worth? Tired of everyone questioning you and your rightful rule? Slip into oblivion – sleep. Let me rock you to sleep. _

Sleep eternal, she meant, Azkadellia thought to herself. She wasn't an impressionable teen anymore; she knew very well what the witch would do. She knew she wouldn't just wake up one day, and go back to living her life. The witch would bury her deep. This was as good as a grave.

"I hate you. I hate everything about you," she said, looking at the air around her, as if searching for her mentor somewhere out there, when she knew quite well that the disembodied voice came from her own body. In the years that had passed in between, she had come to know her mentor and her true character. She had come to know how to hide things from the witch. There was a place in her mind that was safe. It had become her final fortress.

_But I am you Azkadellia. We are one. The wrath you feel is for yourself. When you move your hand, it is my will that moves it. When you speak, are they not my words you utter? Can you even tell anymore where one of us begins and the other ends? _

Of course she knew now that the witch was lying and manipulating her. They had been separate. The witch had never gained control without her permission, and it was only her weakness that she had exploited in order to gain control. The witch had pushed her towards vile atrocities only because she'd let her.

How strange that she was the weak one, when it'd been DG who'd let go of her hand that day? That she had tried to fight the witch with all her might towards the end, and she hadn't been able to win… Had it been because she hadn't wanted to? That she had recognized deep down how she had gone too far, and how she had feared she wouldn't have been able to go on without her mentor?

Despite everything, Azkadellia had relied on the witch for years. Her voice alone had been the mother she had trapped, the father she had driven into exile, and even the little sister she had thought she had killed. The witch had been her guardian, and having never been alone, Azkadellia had feared that more than she had feared the sleep.

Younger Azkadellia was shaking on the throne. She was a mess. She'd tried to kill herself, she'd tried to make Zero kill her as well, but both accounts had failed. She'd tried living as the ruthless ruler the witch had wanted her to become. But she was tired now: angry and beyond exhausted. Quite frankly she was giving up. Perhaps feeling nothing would be better than feeling all of this?

_You're too tired. Let me take care of you once again. Sleep and gather your strength, my sweet child. I will take care of all your problems. You won't ever have to worry again. _

Tears were falling on her cheeks, but her body was no longer tense. Her head fell and with it her crown. It dropped to the floor, falling down the stairs to her throne, and eventually ending up on the floor battered. All she wanted was for everything to go away. What use was it to fight her mentor when it yielded no results even after years of fighting?

She didn't speak another word or signal her defeat with any visual sign. She just sat there in silence, emptying her mind one memory at a time. Zero was the last person on her mind, for honestly he was closer to her than her mother or her dead sister. She thought about first meeting him all those years ago, and how she had taken his interest and molded into an obsession. He'd always been by her side. Would he continue to serve her, and not even know the difference? Maybe…

Azkadellia looked at her younger self as the life drained from her eyes, and the beaten and wounded person became something else – An ageless instrument would be a better description of the creature that walked in her skin, and rose from the throne. There was no victorious smile or chuckle, the witch merely walked down the stairs, and picked up her crown from the floor. She was unmoved, almost as if she'd known this would happen. Maybe she had never doubted herself?

Had giving up been her greatest sin? She had knowingly killed and hurt a lot of people, but surrendering to the darkness that had nearly destroyed the O.Z. had to be worse? If it weren't for DG her actions would've doomed the O.Z. for good. They would now all live in darkness.

Azkadellia watched as the witch put her appearance in order calmly. She combed her messy hair, cleaned her face, and fixed her dress. It was like she was just putting things back in order without much ado. Like the complications had been just some minor turbulence on the way.

When she was finished, the witch looked exactly like Azkadellia always did: a cruel being without mercy. She was ruthless and beautiful and completely frozen inside. Azkadellia might have as well been dead from that day onwards, killed by her own _mentor._

TBC_  
_


	5. Embraced

5. Embraced

The lights were down for awhile. The air was thick, and she was honestly having some trouble breathing. She couldn't quite focus on anything tangible. Azkadellia tried to think of the bad things she'd done, but unlike before none of the revelations brought forth a tangible memory she could interact inside. So she remained enclosed in darkness.

Uncertainty was like a cloud of terror upon her. Was she supposed to wake up feeling enlightened and free of her burdens? Or was she dying within the Coffin? Had the Coffin failed to find her heart and a redeeming quality in her nature? Actually she wouldn't find it that unlikely.

There was a thought in her mind that kept on repeating though: the question of Zero's fate in all of this. She was no longer there to protect him from the persecution he undoubtedly deserved. Yet there was still life in her body, meaning she had deserted him to an unknown fate, even though he would've _never_ done the same to her.

For a person who claimed to know nothing about love, she was quite bothered by this thought. One could argue she had died and left him a long time ago when she had given into her demons. But Zero hadn't stopped following her then, or even when he'd learned of her sinister plans. He'd followed her until the bitter end.

She had made a conscious effort not to think about him after DG had saved her, and she hadn't fought for any of her other loyal followers either. She'd merely sat inside her room gloomy and bitter. Azkadellia had denied every memory, tried her best to hide the truth from herself. She'd publically announced she wasn't sorry for anything she'd done. Like a rebellious child she'd fought with her parents' expectations and her own dark nature. Clearly even the decision to undergo this trial had been about escaping her responsibility. She hoped deep inside this would prove to be nothing but physical torture; instead she'd gotten a glimpse into her soul.

Now her eyes were wide open, but she failed to see hope. All she could see was the pain she'd caused and the pain that had determined her existence for nearly a decade. She'd wanted to burn everything, because if there was nothing left to concur or terrorize, then maybe she would've been able to take control of her own life.

Ground began to emerge from the darkness. Slowly trees came into being around her. These were familiar woods; they had chased the rebels here many times, unable to hoe the roots of rebellion along with the weeds they did catch. Dead leaves covered the ground she stood on and broke under the weight of her steps. This made her frown, for she hadn't been able to interact with her memories before.

Overcome by worry suddenly, Azkadellia scanned her surroundings for something recognizable that would tell her what memory this was. All she found, however, was Zero standing in the woods, looking at the sky above them with a concerned expression. He wore his uniform as always, and his blonde hair was carefully combed to follow the shape of his head. There was intensity in his glare, the same intensity that had entranced her so long ago. She hadn't quite realized how much she had missed him until now.

It was then that she felt a small prick in her arm, and she turned her head to look at it. To her surprise she could see a small wound there with a little trail of blood running down her arm. She felt another sting in her other arm, and slapped her hand over the wound, only to have blood pour out from between her fingers. She glanced at Zero now, who was also looking at her curiously, clearly acknowledging her presence.

"You're not _him_," Azkadellia whispered hoarsely as soon as the realization dawned on her.

He was a perfect replica of Zero, clearly constructed carefully from her memories. But she also knew that Zero's devotion would've made him rush towards her after he had registered her wounds, whereas the doppelganger only stared back, fascinated by the sight of her.

"No," he responded after a short harrowing silence between them. "I am merely a reflection."

Another wound appeared in her arm, and more blood stained her pale arms, however, Azkadellia didn't let it hurt her concentration. This wasn't the formula from before. This was really happening, and it was not based on any kind of memory. Was she talking to the Coffin itself?

"Have you come to any epiphanies about your life, Azkadellia?" he asked, taking a few steps towards her with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I'm not afraid you," she said calmly, ready to face any judgment or persecution without fear. Azkadellia had always raised her head in the face of danger, never allowed her weakness to show, unless it had been in the face of her mentor.

A smile rose on his lips, one as charming as Zero's smile always was. "What about all those times you flirted with the thought of condemning your traitors into my embrace? Didn't you eventually realize that the Coffin only judges fairly? You knew the only crime those people did was to deny your rule," he asked her, knowing fully that Azkadellia only feared that which she did not fully understand. Such was the case with her young sister as well; it was because Azkadellia could not justify DG's love with sense that she shunned her sister's affection.

"I seem to recall horrible torture being mentioned whenever you were the topic of discussion." Azkadellia shot back at the creature mocking her; she was still unable to listen to the truths it was speaking.

"But I am not good or evil. _I merely am_. The people who embark on this journey condemn themselves. You had chosen to forget a great deal. How does it feel to remember these events as if they were just happening? …Is it painful?"

By now, the doppelganger stood beside her, appearing slightly taller than she was. His presence filled her senses with Zero's familiar scent, teasing her memory with this promise. She swallowed the lump in her throat, keeping her passion on a leash. There was no telling what the Coffin truly wanted, if anything – perhaps it was just an agent of chaos?

"There is nothing worth remembering," she told him with an expressionless face.

It was a lie of course. She was in shock because of the things she'd seen. All these repressed memories felt familiar and foreign at the same time. Her mind had been damaged by the Witch, and she was only now beginning to fully grasp the extent of that abuse.

Zero's doppelganger laughed heartily at her defiance, "Truly, you are quite an exquisite specimen – the most delicious creature I've had the pleasure of tasting in decades." As he spoke he circled her like a predator stalking his prey.

So that's what the Coffin was: a living thing that fed of the people inside it. Would it drain her as well? Actually now that Azkadellia thought about it, she didn't recall any survivors from the Coffin. Had this been a suicide from the start?

"There are so many regrets… it takes much energy to sort through them, and see the golden thread underneath," he continued, finally stopping in front of her. "Your thread is Zero, isn't it?"

The question made Azkadellia shiver. An uncomfortable feeling spread across her body. She glared at the face she had longed to kiss, unable differentiate between the real Zero and this faux copy of him for a lingering moment. Then she forced her heart to stone, like so many times in the past, to protect her from this most vivid pain.

"Ours is just a little sorrowed story," She began explaining, taking on a demeaning attitude. If it was the Coffin's aim to get under her skin through Zero, she would have to counter it, to harden herself so that merely the sight of Zero did not raise all these feelings.

"-No," the doppelganger cut her off, placing his finger on her lips to seal them. It effectively froze her still.

"I could spend an eternity showing you the men and women you've killed and you wouldn't shed a tear, but whenever it's about him, the façade falls. As your judge and executioner I am interested _about what's underneath_."

His words hung in the air, heavy and piercing. Azkadellia couldn't just brush them off.

"I failed him," she confessed after a moment's pause. "If I ever owed anyone anything_, I owed him_ my protection. I owed him my loyalty, but I left him to suffer alone."

Her response was clearly interesting to the man in front of her. Yet she found herself scratching her arms to aid her itching skin. Her nails and fingers were covered in blood, but she didn't quite pay attention. Those small wounds on her arms were getting more frequent in number. It felt like the thorn of a rose prickling her again and again. But the pain was miniscule, and she was so very tired.

"I can only save those who deserve a second chance. Does your lust and regret for this man somehow excuse you of your deeds?"

Now he was preaching to her. What did he want? Her mind was bare in front of him as it had never been for anyone, besides her mentor. She added some pressure as she drew her nails down her arm. It was beginning to ache.

"It is the only thing I would change."

Azkadellia was telling the truth. No matter how sordid her life had turned out, it was useless to wish that she had never entered that cave, or that she would've been able to resist the Witch. Those things were out of her hands. Now the way she had acted upon being released from the Witch's control was something that had been in her hands all along. It was something she could fix if she left the Coffin alive.

"What about your sister?" He asked, clearly weighting his options.

"I don't care for her," she answered almost automatically, too eagerly for him to believe her. Her voice was harsh like it had been for months. It was how she shielded herself from disappointment.

"Yet it was she who pulled you back. It was she who ended your slavery."

Yes, it could've never been Zero, for even with their peculiar bond and instinctive trust, she had never wanted to show her weakness to him. Yet when the witch had plotted to kill DG upon her return to the O.Z., hadn't it been Azkadellia's hand that had refused to deliver the killing blow? The witch had never been able to taint her love for DG completely, albeit she'd been very successful in turning her envy into fuel for murderous frenzy.

It wasn't until now that Azkadellia even knew the Witch had been the one to kill her sister. Somehow those memories had been blurry for a decade. She'd remembered that DG was dead and seeing her mother cry, but the details had escaped her. So when DG had showed up and reached out to her, Azkadellia had taken that hand, wanting to believe that the nightmare could end.

She realized suddenly that her hands were covered in blood, and saw the wound and the claw marks on them. The doppelganger simply smiled at her.

"It's been years since I last had company. I had to have a taste," he explained slyly.

Azkadellia backed away from him, looking at her wounded arms with disgust. The Coffin was draining her blood, tasting her as it tried to figure her out. She handed herself into this being's embrace willingly, without fully understanding her conviction to life and change. Azkadellia breathed in and out calmly as the realization became apparent; she _did_ want to live and be forgiven, despite her horrible deeds.

"I don't deserve happiness," she confessed. "But I do want it. I want to save Zero, rejoice in DG's company, and maybe fix some of the damage I did."

The doppelganger smiled back at her, pleased to hear this confession. He licked his lips and chuckled a bit. "Now that is something we can work with, Princess."

He moved closer to her, pulling her into a cold embrace. Everything about him was just the way it should've been; all her senses were fooled, and if she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was him.

"Zero," she whispered in agony.

But the doppelganger's embrace was not kind and loving. He was crushing her, and she could feel the ravenous prickling of the Coffin whilst in his arms, like hungry vines devouring her.

* * *

"Please, Zero…," she spoke for the first time within the Coffin, and DG immediately woke from her thoughts. She rushed towards the Coffin that betrayed no sign of change. Only Azkadellia's voice resounded within, calling for Zero again and again.

DG tried to call her back, tried to open the Coffin, but it did not budge from her attempts. She pounded its surface in a desperate attempt to wake Azkadellia, but her efforts were for nothing. Her sister remained captive in her prison, and by the sound of it she was nearing the end of her sentence. Some moments later DG could even swear she picked up the scent of blood in the air.

And Azkadellia pleaded again and again. That faint voice was calling for a man responsible for terrible deeds, like he was only one who could save her. DG listened to her sister, feeling weak and powerless. She didn't understand any of this; not her sister's willingness to condemn herself, nor the fact that her weary voice called out to Zero of all people. Yet she realized he was probably one of the few who had stood by Azkadellia's side in the darkness. Who was she to say he was worthless? Perhaps Zero had shown another face to her sister, whom he had served so eagerly?

She ran her fingers across the wooden surface of the Coffin, feeling how it fought against her, repelling her completely. She tried to call for Azkadellia, to lend her strength in this trial by fire, yet she could tell her voice didn't carry. Meanwhile Azkadellia's voice grew more pained, almost terrified. It froze DG in fear, made tears prick her eyes. Despite everything DG had remembered, the love she'd felt for her sister bloomed inside her still; no story of evildoing could undo it, no attempt to brush her aside.

DG made her decision and marched towards the doors. Cain and Ambrose waited on the other side as both had refused to leave her here alone, even with the guards downstairs. Her mother and father had opted to leave the task of watching Azkadellia to DG and her friends, for there was still much to do in this chaos the collapse of Azkadellia's rule had brought upon them. DG understood this for the most part; Azkadellia and mother had exchanged heated words about her decision after all, yet she felt a little disappointed about this decision as well.

She reached the doors, banging fervently against them, calling for her friends. Her voice was nearly reduced to hysterical sobs before she could get her feelings back in check, but for a moment her agony shined through. It was enough to summon both of her friends into the room. DG stepped aside as the door began to swing open, and she quickly grabbed their hands and pulled them towards the Coffin.

The cursed artifact was enveloped in shadow. Its surface emitted a faint glow, and now that she looked at it closer she could make out something strange about the surface. It had been monochromatic, but now it was as if there were veins coursing across the surface, pulsating with life-force. Her eyes widened in horror after Azkadellia let out another chilling scream.

"Help her!" she pleaded, asking for anyone to step up. Yet both Ambrose and Cain were silent and unresponsive. The sight had bewitched them as well, left them staring in awe and fear.

DG swallowed her pride, her sense of honor and justice, and turned to Cain with pleading eyes. "She's been calling out for Zero," she said, her terror visible in her expression. "Please, we need to bring him to her!"

This was enough to awaken Cain from his thoughts. His entire body repelled the thought. Zero was locked within a coffin of his own, left in solitude to repent. It was a fitting punishment for his crimes, and he could not understand why DG would even ask this from him.

He frowned at her, and then shook his head. "No, he stays where he is."

DG wasn't letting go that easily though; she kneeled over the Coffin again, running her hands across the Coffin, trying to reach Azkadellia. "You need to stay strong sis," she whispered, and then shot Cain with a pained look.

Again Azkadellia's weak voice called out to Zero, sounding agonized and tired. DG didn't take her eyes from her companions as they heard this. She watched them both, waited for them to tell her to let her sister's suffering continue. Neither said a word though.

Cain wasn't as enamored by Azkadellia as DG was. He had lived through the harsh first years of her reign, and suffered because of it. He had seen the irreparable damage she had caused, the scars in the people and the land of the O.Z., and couldn't simply believe ignorance excused her role in all of this. Hadn't the Princess been given a chance to plead innocent against her charges? Hadn't she instead cruelly announced she was anything but a puppet, and then personally chosen this instead?

In his eyes Azkadellia wasn't a suffering soul. All she had left was fear, and she fed on it eagerly, doing anything in her power to keep the mirage of danger present. Once that was gone, she would have nothing. He imagined she'd rather hold onto the shreds of her power at any cost than be diminished. That is what this was all about, why they were all gathered here. Her vain pride and anger were not fertile ground for absolution.

Yet her screams drilled even to his hardened core, begging for attention. Pity began to clutch his insides, and for the first time Cain allowed himself to ask questions. Why Zero of all people? He was a mad dog she had unleashed upon her people, and she had merely watched as he had freaked havoc. The man Cain had once known had vanished in the aftermath of his dismissal from the Tin Men, and a vengeful wraith remained in his stead. Zero needed to pay for his crimes, just as Azkadellia needed to pay for hers. Couldn't DG see it?

As Cain turned away from the ghastly scene that unraveled before them, Ambrose took a step forward, moving to DG's side. His pale hand landed over DG's shoulder, made her flinch a bit after contact. Ambrose was no friend of Azkadellia's either; he had seen the darkness in her even when she had been a child. Azkadellia had wanted all the attention that DG had deserved, and gone out of her way to gain it. He had constantly butted heads with the fierce teenager, who had believed she was always right, even to the bitter end. Still Ambrose's stand on Azkadellia was a bit more lenient; he believed there was a shred of good in her, albeit buried deep underneath her stoic face.

DG held her hands over the surface of the Coffin. It still repelled her, having no words of intrigue for an innocent soul like her. Before it had been plain to see where Azkadellia began and the Coffin ended; she had been able to sense them as separate beings through her magic. Now the lines were beginning to blur, leaving behind a muddled mess that gave her a headache when she tried to look deeper. This change frightened her.

Azkadellia called for Zero again, her voice reduced to a guttural, rasping whisper.

Ambrose glanced at Cain and motioned him a bit further away to exchange words. At first Cain was unresponsive, but he followed Ambrose's invitation begrudgingly after a short moment of contemplation. They pulled away from DG to speak in hushed tones.

"I don't think Azkadellia is going to survive," Ambrose said with a muffled voice, unwilling to speak such ill omens in front of DG.

Cain had to agree with this opinion though. It was clear now that the torture was only getting worse. He had heard the stories before; how even the bravest fell in the embrace of the Coffin, how the battle for life reached its pinnacle, and resulted in defeat after the pain became audible. He had hoped for DG's sake that this wouldn't be the case with Azkadellia, but things were grim now.

"I agree," he then said, succinct as always.

"We're better men, are we not?" Ambrose then asked, preparing to make his plead. Pity was his motivation, along with the love he had for the young girl affected by this tragedy.

"You're saying we should fulfill her dying wish?" Cain asked, tasting the words. He didn't owe Azkadellia anything; listening to her like this made his skin crawl though. He would sleep better if she were to die in peace.

"Yes, that is what I'm asking," Ambrose admitted, casting his sad eyes on DG. "_For her_," he then added with a melancholy voice.

"For her," Cain said as well, looking at DG. They both shared the need to protect DG, and this was certainly more about her than Azkadellia for them.

And yet Cain knew Zero was a bad piece in this puzzle. If he cared for his Queen like she did for him, would he bow before death or try and intervene? Could he simply sit by her and respect her wishes? Knowing Zero, he feared the worst.

"There is no guarantee Zero will be compliant," Cain warned his friend, finding to his surprise that Ambrose did not react to his words in any visible way. In fact, Ambrose appeared to be quite aware of this fact. What did he have on his mind?

"I remember more than you do," Ambrose answered after a pregnant pause. "I've been recalling things, the hazy memories from that time. I think he will succumb as long as he knows she is summoning him."

There was something strange about Ambrose, a thoughtful stare and frown. What was he remembering really?

"What do you mean?" Cain inquired, honestly piqued by these hints. He struggled with the bigger picture still.

Ambrose then turned to Cain with a weak smile. "There were rumors of a relationship, strengthened by the way Zero survived failure countless times under her rule. I believe he cares for Azkadellia a great deal."

Cain didn't think Zero had it in him. He remembered Zero's wife, Myrcilla, and the way he had behaved around her. He remembered the whores, and the lies, and the black and white world Zero had lived in. He remembered her tears, and Zero's angry face. But the way Ambrose spoke; he sounded so sure of this fact. It had to be more than a hunch, or a faded memory.

"And you still think this is wise?" Cain questioned. His hand rested over his revolver; he sought for its comfort subconsciously as he tackled this issue.

"I think we can control him," Ambrose stated.

In his mind's eye he could see Azkadellia, a young Queen, faltering in her conviction, showing signs of weakness beneath her hatred. He could see the way Zero looked at her, intercepting the situation before it was too much for her. These final memories before she had handicapped him were etched into his mind, and she had shown distraught only Zero had calmed back then.

He had sensed this connection between them then, a vital piece of information that had been lost with the rest, and then restored. Back then he had wanted to use this information against her, to point the others where to strike, and now he was truly the better man for using this to allow her a sense of peace before death.

"I will bring Zero to her," Cain raised his voice, making sure even DG heard what he was saying.

Her eyes lit with hope, brought life back into her pale face. She swallowed the tears and coarseness in her throat away. "You'd do that?" she asked, hoping he would not change his mind.

"I'll leave right away," Cain assured her, setting into motion right away. He didn't give DG or Azkadellia another look, simply hurried onwards.

Ambrose was left in his wake, standing awkwardly in the silent room, eyes cast to the floor. He both wanted and didn't want DG's gratitude for this. His complex relationship to Azkadellia, his raving emotions that were under perpetual change, didn't allow him to court her in this situation. He needed to keep her at a distance to act in a suitable way, unchallenged by the conflict of wanting what was best for her and what was right by Azkadellia at the same time.

With Cain's steps echoing in the hall, DG was now looking directly at Ambrose, and Azkadellia was breathing heavily within the Coffin. DG waited for Ambrose to look at her, to reaffirm her affection for him as she knew he had changed Cain's mind, but his eyes remained cast aside.

The moment passed as Azkadellia screamed again and began trashing within the Coffin. Her voice became high-pitched shrieking, words were lost, and all that remained was the utter agony it conveyed.

TBC


	6. Buried

6. Buried

Zero was sure of himself at first. The dawn of the Sorceress' plan approached, and she would certainly free her faithful followers. This – being caught and condemned by the enemy – was but a minor setback in the larger scheme of things. Assuring this helped him bare the involuntary imprisonment, to maintain his fighting spirit.

Time eroded this certainty like dull sandpaper, scrubbing it away one crumb at a time. The eclipse came and went. His imprisonment disconnected his senses, except for his eyesight. He felt almost weightless, a disembodied spirit forced to witness the slow aging of the O.Z. The now was unmoving; nothing seemed to happen as the forest closed his unmarked tomb within its bosom quietly, inching closer and closer to him.

He wondered about his sable-haired Queen, how the sunlight evidenced her failure to ascend into godhood. He wondered if she was defeated and killed in a glorious fight – a fitting demise for the ruthless – or if she was held captive, and then executed like a dog in front of cheering crowds. She had oppressed them – him – and yet he felt for her deeply, always craving for something, _anything_, she would give.

In the face of defeat Zero began to retreat further and further into the safety of his mind. Its folds were difficult to unravel at first, even to him, but his lonely sojourn gave him no other destination for refuge. After enduring the imprisonment for some time, these reluctant doors relented and gave him access to oblivion. The labyrinth that existed there was a crude shelter, but one that hosted also the remains of his former life.

It was there that he could envision himself a young boy again, a kind soul that dreamed of adventure and thrills. That boy had always felt like the only one of his kind, shunned and trampled by others for no obvious reason. He was a little too rough around the edges, a little _different_, which was always a curse no matter where you went, wasn't it?

Enlisting to have a purpose, a rank, a goal, and then, _finally_, approval, he followed this road dutifully, yet without true concern for the people he protected. Age hardened his vision, sharpened the rules in his head. He took a wife as expected, doted on her, yearning for love. With time she came to see him as he truly was, and knew both fear and contempt for him. Their road together was flooded by a stormy sea. She left him when he crossed the line, and the only man he'd called friend tried to stop him from freefalling.

Adrian began to vanish, to make way for Zero, when a woman-child took notice of him. She enticed him and told him to embrace the darkness within. After that he no longer questioned anything.

But she could not love herself. Zero had once thought he could love her for the both of them. Instead he'd watched her slip away through his fingers, responding to it too late to catch nothing but a random strand of black hair.

There was more in the labyrinth: both walls worn and distinctively textured existed there. It was the smooth surfaces you could not grasp that belonged to her though; Azkadellia in the midst of her afterglow, lost in sensation; Azkadellia struggling awake from a suffocating nightmare, her eyes haunted and old beyond her age; Azkadellia waiting for rain, for absolution, after she had bathed the hungry earth beneath her feet in blood. She was always flawless in his memory, always so self-conscious in her tight skin.

Sometimes he wondered if he'd met her at a bad time. He wondered if things had escalated like this had he governed his feelings better. He wondered if she would've been more receptive to his single-minded admiration under different circumstances.

Zero looked onwards without truly watching, trapped in his memory, where the pain and pleasure she had given him were equal. The changing seasons outside weathered the iron suit, whereas he lay protected within, lost in his own tragic world of violence and regrets.

Would he change anything if given the chance? Probably, but it mattered little now. In the now he just wanted her alive and without facades. Her cruelty was a drug to him, so why did he rather remember her as a fragile creature; that heavenly face shrouded by tears, that clownish smile gone, replaced by heartbreak? Towards the end he had not been able to see through her defenses.

In his mind's eye, he could conjure up images, scenarios, make-believes to ease his pain, yet the truth prevailed. Her fate was unknown in all of this. As per her promise, she must have made sure he was safe from persecution until the end. He didn't believe she would abandon him to this fate were it in her power to help him. The thought of her powerless and broken didn't sit well with him.

Even in the height of her power she had needed him, so torture aside, Cain had gotten his revenge by taking away the most important thing he had: the ability to protect her.

Shadows hadn't minded him before, but he still desired life. And that would be his bitter epitaph.

* * *

No sound penetrated his crude tomb, so unbeknownst to him rain was drumming against the surface of his iron coffin. Dark clouds poured their tears into the hungry ground and blackened the sky. Zero no longer knew whether he was actually watching something, or if he had already closed his eyes. Exhaustion clouded the details within the iron suit, but magic kept everything from falling apart, and so he remained stuck and did not notice the figure approaching through the dark.

Cain moved silently in the woods. The foliage blocked some of the intrusive rain, but not all. The air was cool, and his breath turned into steam in the low temperature. He descended a small hill carefully, when the ground beneath his feet shifted and turned into a muddy slope. His boots were covered in dirt in just a matter of seconds.

He motioned for the back up to follow him and take their positions. Zero wouldn't be in an excellent physical condition after the time spent within the iron suit, but he wasn't taking any risks in procuring his prisoner.

Others followed in his wake, eyes observing the haunted nature of the woods. The storm only seemed to enhance the threat of the malformed trees and their giant shadows. Somewhere in the distance it thundered, but there was no lightning in sight.

The iron suit remained where Cain had left it. It was a desolate place that seemed completely ordinary at first glance, but was somewhat difficult to pinpoint because of the foliage, bushes and trees. The rain water had pooled by the suit, and the ground was reduced to mud here as well.

Cain approached, prepared for anything. He knew from experience that the iron suit didn't leave its victims unscathed, or in prime condition for escape, but Zero was brutal; Cain didn't believe he'd be broken in such short time. He motioned the others to approach and keep their revolvers handy, while he ventured closer to take a look at Zero.

Zero didn't react in any way as Cain stopped in front of him, gazing at his adversary through the dirty glass between them. Zero's eyes were glazed, which led Cain to believe he was disconnected from this moment, lost somewhere in thought. The difference between the two of them was clear. Cain had witnessed every moment of every year, watching the torture of his family without end, whereas Zero had already retreated somewhere unreachable to remain sane (if he'd ever been sane to begin with).

Cain moved his hand towards the glass, tapping its surface with his index finger, but alas, there was no reaction; Zero remained still. How strange that they both would end up with similar punishment, Cain thought, remembering Azkadellia's screams within her prison. There was a sense of poetic justice here.

Wyatt Cain was a good man for the most part, but part of him still screamed for revenge, saying they were not even yet. Zero had taken his wife from him and made him watch it again and again for eight years, so why shouldn't he bring Zero to his Queen, and make him watch her die as well? Would Zero then contemplate on that event for the rest of his days, locked in a iron suit? Would he then feel what Cain had felt?

A couple of men moved closer to Cain, proceeding to help him in prying Zero out of the Coffin. Cain had received several men to help him extract Zero with the condition that he'd be returned to the capital for trial afterwards. The reasons for Zero's extraction were not discussed. If the Queen knew the true purpose of this mission, would've she agreed to it? If Cain had had to voice the intention of helping Azkadellia in her final hour, could've he actually gone through with it? Silence was better for all of them. It hid the uncomfortable details.

There was no hesitation present when Cain reached for the locks in the tin suit. The men he'd brought with him braced themselves, clearly familiar with Zero's reputation as a remorseless killer. One by one Cain flicked the locks open until the lid opened with a click, followed by steam. As Cain pushed the lid open, Zero fell from the iron suit, caught by the assisting men before he met with the ground. Zero didn't appear to be conscious, but Cain treated this observation with doubt. He motioned the men to carry Zero away to the carriage they had brought with them, and watched as they began to drag Zero's body onwards.

Zero was a mess: dirty, ragged, bruised. Gone were his self-assured smirk and clean uniform, as well as his straight posture. Cain followed his helpers with a grim expression. His hat protected his face from the rain, but the water drops gathered to the rim of his hat and fell with each heavy step. The men dragged Zero from his armpits, and his feet followed him, smudged with mud.

Cain gave the iron suit one last glance, before leaving it to stand alone in the woods. Perhaps it would soon have a new victim?

* * *

Another nightmare emerged from the smoke and fire. Azkadellia tried to hold onto Zero despite the pain and distress, but he vanished from her arms, left her alone in the uncharted depths of her mind. She called for him, scared and vulnerable. She moved onwards, looking for him, and finding nothing.

This went on for awhile.

Her pride seemed inconsequential now as did her former possessions. The mirror had shown a different Azkadellia for awhile now, a person she had not been ready to recognize. This was the woman who had existed beneath the lie built on the fulfillment of her darkest desires. The witch had told her all her doubts were true; that no one loved her; that DG would always be the more precious child; that all of her achievements were for nothing; that if she wanted something she needed to take it, damn the consequences!

Something inside her resonated with these thoughts, and so the smoke drained away, leaving her standing in a familiar place. Her childhood home emerged, a castle by the lake, the birth place of Azkadellia the Queen. She stood in the dining room for awhile, admiring the details her memory was able to summon forth. She remembered stalking through these halls, anger brewing inside her, given form by the Witch's evil council.

And then she could see her younger self, sitting by herself, consumed by apathy. The laughing noises further away seemed to hail from another world altogether. Young Azkadellia, only sixteen years old, was crying while her parents entertained the real darling of the family, her flawless younger sister.

She had felt so different in these past few days, a freak, an unwanted distraction. She was so certain someone was watching her; there was an echo in her head, and a pain on her temple. Impulses, such terrible impulses, had overcome her. She'd snapped at DG, sent her away crying, and gotten scolded by her own parents, told to act her age. She had refused to follow Ambrose's instructions, and openly given him a piece of her mind.

Azkadellia felt sick. She didn't know what was happening to her. Wasn't she kind enough? Didn't she do her part and protect her younger sister, play with her, teach her, love her? Was nothing enough? And she cried, hiding her tears behind her hands, showing weakness only under the protection of solitude. Her long hair landed on her shoulders like a wild river, whereas she was usually tidy to a fault.

Her mother had yelled at her, her father shown a disapproving face. Ambrose had made an issue out of her outburst, and DG wouldn't even look at her at the moment.

Azkadellia jumped in fright upon hearing a noise. She scanned her surroundings but saw nothing. Her tears were quickly wiped away, her hair brushed into better condition. No one was there though; the noise existed only in her mind. It was a rattling whisper she was beginning to hear.

_Hear me child. I will care for you. I will love you no matter what. _

She withdrew into her quarters, locked the doors and pulled the curtains over the windows, but that voice was still there, beckoning kindly. She tried to tell it to go away, to leave her be. She tried to press her hands over her ears, to muffle the voice. Nothing worked though.

Writhing in her bed, Azkadellia listened to this person who spoke to her so kindly, and her defenses began to wear down little by little.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked, cowering before her disembodied guest.

_I'm your friend Azkadellia. I can help you. Can't you see what is happening? You will never be good enough for them no matter how hard you try. _

"You mean my mother? Surely we are just having a hard time," she tried to converse, to deny.

_But you know the truth within you, child. She loves DG and DG alone. None of them care for you. But you don't need their acceptance. You can carve your own path in this world. _

"I've tried so hard. But the fault always lies with me. How can it be so? I just… I'm so tired of trying," she was breaking into tears again; her anguish was pushing to the surface. Young Azkadellia lay on the bed, face buried in her pillow as she wept, curled into a fetal position. Her tears felt rejuvenating.

_It doesn't have to be so. I can help you become strong. I will guide you to a splendid future. _

And yet the thought felt wrong. Azkadellia twisted and turned. She shook her head in defeat. "You heard Ambrose. I'm not even the Crown Princess. Mother will decide who succeeds her to the throne. It will _never _be me," she said, overcome by her fears.

Suddenly her weeping cold body felt warmer somehow, like she wasn't alone anymore. The voice grew softer, more compassionate. And it was right by her ear, speaking so that you could hear the smile of its owner right there in the tone.

"No one believes in me," Azkadellia responded, sounding utterly defeated. She was a truly pitiable sight then and there, caught in her own emotional entanglements. A creature easily exploited by an old soul trapped in her body.

_You can take the crown Azkadellia. If that is what you desire, I will make it so. You are precious. It is them who cannot see your shine and appreciate it. Together we will change the O.Z. We will make it better. _

All she needed was a little push.

Older Azkadellia stood watching this exchange. This was when the Witch had begun to manipulate her, to whisper thoughts and ideals in her ear. She'd been a frustrated and juvenile child who had foolishly believed she deserved the crown, and would never receive it through traditional means. She had believed that her mother showed blind favoritism towards DG and shunned her older daughter accordingly. Looking back, she could still tell her mother had loved DG dearly and perhaps cared for her more, but this hadn't made her an unjust parent.

She had believed that by taking the crown, she would prove herself, gain her family's love. But her efforts had led to murder, betrayal, and plenty of other sins. Her contempt for DG had grown and grown, as if it was her little sister's fault that she could not feel love and acceptance anymore; as if DG had robbed her of those things intentionally by being the favorite.

She could see that moment before her eyes now; how she moved towards DG's bed, almost gliding. Her memories of this moment were fuzzy at best, a sweet delirium. The Witch moved her hand, guiding her like a string puppet. A sting in her stomach told her this was wrong, but all opposition was silenced by the rush of magic at her fingertips, the countless futures she could see when DG wasn't there to keep her back.

Watching this, Azkadellia knew she was being pushed harder and harder by the Witch; that her mentor had used every ounce of power to push her at that moment, jarring her free will the best she could. It had been but a twisted fantasy, a cruel thought in the middle of her desperation, something she would've never in a million years done if it weren't for the Witch!

She didn't turn from this sight though; she watched it completely, taking in her sister's horror, her own disembodied glee beneath her emotionless mask. Everything was made sense with an old nursery rhyme like it could somehow explain this monstrosity away!

_The Majestic Queen of the O.Z. had two lovely daughters she  
One to darkness she be drawn, one to light she be shown  
Double eclipse it is foreseen, light meets dark in the stillness between  
Only one and one alone shall hold the emerald and take the throne _

Whose lips had even uttered those words in the first place, thus giving form to her doubts, a confirmation to her inferiority? She had absorbed every word bitterly, hoping that they were a lie, something simply misunderstood. How sad that in her own naivety she had believed the Witch, when she had told her to drown DG in darkness to be shown to the light, to the emerald. After the Witch's manipulations, she had already hated and envied DG with all her heart for no good reason. It had been easy to snuff the life out of her defenseless kin, almost like blowing out a candle.

And as DG became motionless and younger Azkadellia snuck away content, older Azkadellia sat on the edge of the bed where DG lied cold and dead. Time was frozen; her mother did not hurry to DG's side to save her daughter by sacrificing most of her powers. Azkadellia sat there, reaching for DG's cold skin with her fingers. She was afraid she might not touch her sister in this form, but gladly her fingers met with firm skin when she reached out.

Azkadellia had murdered her own sister, been pushed into this vile act by her new friend. DG's had been the first life-force she had taken, snacking on it, and been left high afterwards. She'd become addicted to magic easily, exploring the darker paths her tutor had hidden, but the Witch was more than willing to teach her. So many things afterwards were still a blur; she'd been easy to guide in the midst of her inner turmoil. She remembered feeling disconnected, having wondered how victory tasted like ash, or how much easier it was to destroy than create.

"I'm sorry," she said aloud to the body beside her. DG's hollow stare proved there was no one to listen, but this felt important nevertheless. Tears swelled in Azkadellia's eyes, her lips trembled.

"I was supposed to protect you," she then admitted, remembering the promise she'd once made to their mother. "Forgive me, DG," she begged, absorbing the sight of the fragile girl beside her.

A noise a bit further away got her attention, and Azkadellia turned her head towards its source. She found a pile of apples on the floor, and examined them curiously. She recalled venturing into the woods for many times to search for apples. Then she saw them turn rotten before her eyes; lose their shape, become smelly and spoilt, and shrink visibly. Azkadellia leaned over DG and closed her petite eyes before she moved towards the apples next.

She picked up one from the floor, a dry pathetic specimen, and turned it in her hands curiously. A chill caressed her back, and then another, and suddenly she realized she was no longer at the palace. Azkadellia didn't even startle when she found herself in the woods, watched by her predatory host, still guised as Zero. By now she could tell it from his eyes – the indifferent way they glared at her. Zero had felt many things for her, but never indifference.

The doppelganger sat over a tree trunk, appearing carefree and quite amused with her display of emotion. He was clad in Zero's Longcoat attire, one foot rested bent over the trunk, while the other hung loose, swinging from one side to the other. There was something sinister about him, something that just didn't fit.

Still holding the withered apple in her hands, Azkadellia turned towards her host. His eyes flashed dangerously with recognition, but he remained silent. No witty taunt escaped his lips like before.

Then she could feel something beneath her fingers. Azkadellia stirred and looked down, seeing the rivers of blood flowing down her arms pour towards the apple, reviving it. The sight made her blood cold, and yet she was unable to let go either. The apple began to expand until it was as good as new, and dumbfounded she dropped it onto the ground with an audible thump.

The doppelganger snorted and stood up. "We're almost at the core, Princess," he said gleefully, walking up to her casually and offering her his arm. Azkadellia didn't take it however; she merely stared back at him with contempt.

When he took a step closer, she instinctively backed up to avoid contact. She remembered their earlier embrace all too well. Shame flushed through her in an instant as she recalled how she had begged for Zero at that moment, like some weak girl instead of an all-powerful sorceress.

"It's futile to resist, and it is pointless to call for _your lover_ now," he announced coldly.

"Take off his face," she hissed at him with defiance, loathing these cruel tactics this creature was using.

Her anger was met with a belittling response though, "I doubt any other would have better response, my darling."

He looked thoughtful for a moment there, contemplating something before he continued. "After all, he is the only one you dare to love despite fear of rejection."

She shook when he spoke those words. She didn't love Zero, and he did not love her. He was in love with pain, and she liked inflicting it. It was nothing more. They were suited for another simply because they did not limit each other. He was the only one whose arms had ever offered her any rest.

She didn't voice these thoughts though; she kept them inside, locked away, as she recognized the truth in her adversary's words. It was useless to call for someone else now. She had subjected herself to this soul searching, this creature's judgment, all on her own.

He lifted her chin with his finger, curious about her, an unreadable expression over his familiar features. "Did you ever think Azkadellia that perhaps you were the princess _shown to the light_?" he questioned next, bringing up something she had not honestly given much thought.

As the doppelganger realized the effect of his words, he continued with a satisfied smile, "After all, DG did sink into darkness, did she not?"

"It's a lie," Azkadellia snapped, pulling out of his reach. "All of it, merely an illusion to trick me."

She then sighed with contempt, "There _never was any prophecy_: Just a troubled selfish little girl who needed a purpose when she had none."

To this her host had no reply. He neither confirmed nor denied her thesis. To Azkadellia it was all the same. She was done being manipulated by words and speeches.

"Who do you think would grieve for you, if you were gone?" he asked her next, performing his question in a truly chilling manner. Her skin wanted to crawl at the sound it, shivers ran across her sides.

"My family would grieve for the Azkadellia they once knew," she responded with honesty.

"And-," she lingered in vocalizing the second thought, "-I believe all but one would cheer at the news of the Sorceress' demise."

Zero – he was the only one who would grieve; the only one who had any hint about who she truly was. She didn't recall ever seeing him cry. Would her death reduce him to tears?

"We keep coming back to _him_, don't we?" he taunted her. "Tell me, princess, do you think he loves you?"

For the second time already the doppelganger was suggesting their relationship had anything to do with love. It irked Azkadellia, but for some reason, she couldn't outright tell him he was wrong. She could feel the lie in his statement, yet she didn't dare speak it aloud.

"It's like he said," she answered, biting her teeth together tensely, "He has no place in a world without me."

"Is that why you didn't dare find him? Because you didn't want him to see you this way?" he inquired, pushing her long hair over her back from her breast. The action seemed simple enough, but it was too intimate, too reminiscent of the way the real Zero had moved and breathed.

She choked for a moment, felt the anguish in her throat manifest into a lump she couldn't swallow. It pressed at her vocal chords, muting her speech.

"I didn't want to find out he might be dead," she then confessed.

Blood was dripping down her arms again, tainting her pale skin. She tried to clean the back of her hand from it, but only managed to smear the red across her skin.

"The more you resist me, the more it will hurt," he advised, observing her wounds with clinical interest.

She tasted sweet in his embrace, a rare treat for a creature such as he was. But there was only so little he could do without harming her too much. Pain distracted her enough for him to slip through her defenses, find the doors to the memories that were hidden deepest. The Witch had concealed so much from her; it was quite sad he could only bring it forth by torturing her. Alas, it needed to be done.

"Why do we carry on?" she suddenly asked, sounding tired. "Don't you already know I'm lost?"

To this he responded with a hopeful glance. "I haven't yet judged you, sweet princess. It is you who judged yourself years ago."

Much like to the real Zero, her inability to appreciate herself and forgive herself was very much visible to the doppelganger. He gave a passing look to the apple she'd dropped, a thing once withered and lifeless now boomed with promise of new beginnings.

TBC


	7. Unforgiven

7. Unforgiven

He felt the brush of fresh air, how it pushed at him from all directions, it was his first clue of freedom regained. Then his muscles began to ache for being used again. His senses were flooded by scent and sensations: the smell of cut grass, mud, rainwater, wet wood, and the feel of weight, pain, the prickling feeling prolonged numbness brought to your limbs once you tried to move them again. Everything returned to him slowly, in small doses. It helped him regain his bearings, to awaken.

The rain was rustling against the canvas that covered the back of the wagon he was being transported in, playing a strange drumming tune, an invitation to a new day. It was still dark and gloomy, wet and chilly, yet Zero felt comfortable. After being denied the joy of using one's senses for a long period of time, he enjoyed these little feels all the more.

His head felt heavy and pain prickled his temples when he tried to open his eyes, but otherwise he was in good physical condition. Something from his experienced lurked about, like a reckless child shining a mirror at his face; this something jarred his thought-process, seeking for attention but gaining none. He deemed it unnecessary, although he couldn't quite chase it away for good. Had it been an epiphany of some sorts, or a memory he'd wanted to forget?

As he began to struggle into a sitting position, he realized his hands were bound. It made the process of sitting up certainly more difficult but not impossible. Zero had suffered through his share of capture before (he'd always known it would end like this eventually), so he was acquainted with the necessary actions for escape. He took his time to get to a sitting position, conserving his strength the best he could. Once he succeeded in sitting, he pressed his back against the wall, and gave his surroundings a long scan. It didn't take him long to recognize the figure sitting on the opposite end of the wagon, his revolver pointed firmly at Zero.

Cain was struggling to stay awake, to keep alert, and still sleep sought to claim him. He'd positioned himself in a manner that brought about constant discomfort, so he'd have a harder time of falling asleep, but past a certain point even such precautions seized to be useful. His hat covered his face somewhat, and his long coat provided him better protection from the wind and cold than Zero's worn shirt did. Cain looked the same as before, stoic and honest to a fault.

It was only now that Zero could look at the man he'd once called friend for good since he had locked Cain within an iron suit nearly a decade ago. The memories flooded Zero's mind instantly, and so he recalled his own hurt pride that had driven him to horrible deeds back then. He went even further, recalling the simple days back in the Central City when he and Cain had been friends and partners. That was before Cain had been on the protective detail of the Mystic Man, before Zero had been dishonored and kicked aside from the force, before he had killed Cain's wife to quench his own insatiable lust for disorder. Once upon a time, Zero had considered those days the most peaceful he had lived. Now he no longer looked back with regret and yearning.

What was done was done. Cain had chosen his ideals over his friend. He had looked at Zero's bloodied appearance, his shocked face twisting as Zero had exhibited exhilaration over his violent outburst, and Cain had held him still with all of his strength, shouting at him to stop. Zero had done worse things since then and so had Cain. That moment had truly been a point of no return for them, hadn't it?

In hindsight, Zero didn't miss being a Tin Man. It hadn't been his calling. He did miss their friendship though, had taken Cain's betrayal more deeply than he had cared to admit, which had led to the tragedies he couldn't undo. He'd taken away Cain's family, his job, his purpose, just as Cain's actions had cost Zero all these things. For awhile he'd felt better for stripping Cain bare, like he'd felt Cain had done to him. Time had changed that, given him new thirst, new limits.

His first intent had been to kill this man, end it quickly, and get it off his chest (all that suppressed rage). Azkadellia had raised the stakes, wanted him to cut deeper, do more damage. His undoing had been her council, her promise of a place at her side. Now it was impossible to mend things, to bridge this abyss between him and Cain, but he accepted that. Without Azkadellia what was he even worth anymore? With her gone, he would give Cain his revenge.

Cain blinked a few times as he suddenly woke, taking notice of his prisoner awake and well. His grip on his revolver grew stronger; his eyes found Zero's easily, drawing a cynical look from his former partner. Despite his shaken appearance, Zero was very much himself within moments: self-assured and cocky.

"Was it not good enough for you?" Zero asked curiously, leaning at the wall behind him. "Or did my punishment go against your Queen's law?"

The brim of Cain's hat moved first as he lifted his chin to gain better view of Zero. He could tell what was going through Zero's mind even now; the mockery was based on an assumption that Cain was reluctantly retrieving Zero. Too bad that wasn't the case.

"You've been summoned Zero," he explained calmly, sounding perfectly content. "I'm simply picking you up."

Zero tried to recall the complex justice system of the O.Z. before Azkadellia's reign. He remembered pieces there and then, always returning to the frustration that had marked his years as a Tin Man, for the convictions of the guilty had sometimes been easily averted. There was room to play within the boundaries of the law. A long time ago, he would've never dreamt he'd also be bending the rules he used to uphold.

"I suppose there will a trial, the crowds will scream for murder, and we will all cheer when my time comes," Zero contemplated with unusual detachment. He had signed off to his fate.

"The Queen didn't summon you," Cain then revealed, taking small pleasure in witnessing Zero's face as he gave away the revelation. "It was Azkadellia."

With three simple words, Zero's confidence washed away, leaving behind bewilderment, worry and raw passion. It tainted his voice, burned his eyes and chest. "She's _alive_?" he whispered, thunderstruck by this information.

Cain didn't remember seeing Zero this bare before. Everything about Zero was bathed in blood in his memory, his intent clouded by cruel wit, curses and threats, and his face always unrelenting. Even in the presence of his wife, Zero had felt reserved. But Azkadellia brought forth something else, something genuine. Ambrose had been right, Cain deduced.

"Yes, she is," he offered confirmation, still baffled by the visible way Zero hung onto his every word.

"Where?" Zero asked next, sounding more threatening already. His eyes had become sharper, danger was present there. He reminded Cain of a predator protecting its kin.

"Azkadellia has surrendered herself to be judged by the Coffin," Cain then revealed with an uneasy voice. He feared the ancient relic, truly didn't desire such a fate for anyone, so Azkadellia had his respect for making this choice.

Color drained from Zero's face, a wave of illness passed through him, but he forced it under control. For a moment he just breathed in and out, let the news sink in. He knew what the Coffin was, just like every child in the O.Z. did. It was a cruel device in old tales, a living thing with a mind of its own. Azkadellia's mother had banned its use, her predecessors had all feared it, but Azkadellia had recovered it and kept it locked. Zero recalled his shock when he had learned she had the Coffin within her grasp and it was simply waiting for a suitable victim. How could it be that she was the one it would devour after its long wait?

"No," Zero whispered, his anger flaring at the Queen again. "She will die," he said, clearly disturbed by the news and his vision of the future.

Cain didn't argue. Wasn't this why he was here? To bring Zero to his mistress, so she would have someone she cared for on her side at the end?

"She's been calling for you," he then said, finding little joy in Zero's pain. He had expected to enjoy this more, relish the moment, but Zero's pain only made his own chest ache. It was like looking into a mirror, a thought Cain didn't easily admit.

Zero narrowed his eyes. "_That's_ why you came for me?" he questioned with disbelief. Azkadellia had destroyed Cain's life, his family, his home, and yet Cain would offer her final solace before the end? Just how valiant could one man be?

Cain cocked his gun in response, his face hardening. "I'm doing this for DG. Not your Sorceress, and certainly _not you_," he clarified.

Zero turned his face away from Cain's scrutiny, feeling its hating stab a bit too intensely. His mind was captivated by a single image; Azkadellia trapped in that damn thing, faced twisted in pain, tears streaming down her face. Surprisingly it reminded him of another sight he had once witnessed: her face as he nearly squeezed the life from her body. He had known of her death wish a long time now, but he had not believed she would have the means of ending her own life. Now she had something to do it for her finally.

Cain didn't know what went on in Zero's head. Somewhere along the line Zero had become more than a remorseless villain. He exhibited signs of life Cain hadn't seen before in him: caring, worry, fear. Cain had never stopped to wonder how Zero had become entangled with Azkadellia, he had simply assumed the worst when they had first parted ways and then considered his suspicions proven when Zero had become a Longcoat.

Now questions arose; they crumbled his certainty and willingness to carry on. He had wanted to hurt Zero, to see him experience the same pain as he had when Adora had died. Now he wondered if that was what he truly wanted, or just a diluted revenge fantasy that would never give him any satisfaction outside the confines of his mind.

"We are not even yet, are we Cain?" Zero asked all of the sudden, returning to his usual confrontational self. He baited his former friend, seeking cheap thrills from hurtful words.

Cain's grip on his gun became firmer again. "We will _never _be even, Zero," he said.

"So you will make sure your bitch Queen condemns me after I've watched my Sorceress die?" Zero asked, curious about Cain's motives. As noble as the man was, Zero was a weakness for Cain, something that was able to shatter his ideals and lead him toward darker paths. Zero didn't expect Cain to be untouched by this assignment as no man in his position could be.

"It sounds almost poetic, doesn't it?" he then mused, drawing parallels between his revenge on Cain and Cain's current actions.

"You would have to have a heart that's torn out of your chest to even begin to experience what you put me through," Cain responded. "I doubt there's a thing in the Outer Zone that can make you feel that."

The words prickled as intended. Zero could see that Cain knew about Azkadellia's meaning for him, he sensed it now; and then all made sense.

"You did that to me once, remember, _partner_?" Zero taunted now, invoking old memories. Although it was distant now, Cain had destroyed his life once. He'd traded their friendship to this long torturous rivalry that only death could end.

Cain hadn't expected this; he was honestly caught off-guard with the accusation. Looking at Cain's face made Zero feel sick. He trashed his head a bit, banging it at the wall behind him. The pain that followed was sobering.

"It may have not meant anything to you, but you destroyed me," Zero shot Cain with a blaming look, and his voice dripped poison as he spoke.

Cain felt a small sting of conscience. He knew he had done the right thing by reporting Zero, but it was also true that this had started a chain of events that had led to Zero's downfall. "You deserved to be dismissed. You crossed the line," he clarified without an ounce of doubt.

"You crossed the line when you did that to me," Zero responded, drawing parallels. "You deserved punishment."

And for the first time, Cain considered that perhaps Zero had acted on revenge rather than just blindly following orders. It hadn't really crossed his mind, although the grudge held should've been obvious. The epiphany was odd, but it fit with the picture. Somehow this knowledge made the victory he had savored a cold dish to enjoy.

The two men stared at each other in the twilight. Fires of anger smoldered still, although reduced to embers. In the end it didn't matter that Zero had a motive as well. Two wrongs didn't make a right.

"I don't care about your justifications. Tell yourself whatever you want to sleep sound at night. You're a monster, and I will sure you never hurt anyone again," Cain finished, resigning to silence.

Zero didn't comment. He hadn't wanted understanding, and he knew he was at the end of the line. Somehow though, the verbiage helped distract him from the real issues. Everyone else might have resigned themselves to watching Azkadellia die, but not him. Not him.

* * *

The morning sun arrived, flooding into the room through the windows. It landed its spotlight over the Coffin, somewhat diminishing its horrifying experience. DG had fallen asleep sometime in the night when Azkadellia's cries had died out again and there had been sufficient quiet for her slip into dream. Ambrose had also napped here and there, unable to give himself similar freedom to follow his basic instincts. He had covered DG with a blanket, helped her settle into a better position, and sat at a distance from her, eyes cast on the Coffin and the girl sleeping by it.

These feelings for her had developed unwanted. It had begun when he had still been Glitch and she had been one of the few in the long years to treat him like a person. Her kindness had won him over, corroded his defenses. He hadn't remembered the past, how he had guided her in her youth and prepared her for the throne. It had been easy to love her when he hadn't known of their connection. It had been easy to see her as a woman instead of a child. Alas, now he was bound by his memories, his position.

A senseless man could love whomever he wanted, but a man with sense could not.

He recognized this as madness, but he couldn't reason himself out of love, couldn't struggle with the sweetness her presence spread in his body. She was truly a source of happiness, light. DG wanted to believe the best in everyone, despite being a sarcastic character. She hid her softness in bluntness and stubbornness.

He assumed this was why she had not yet realized the dilemma of Azkadellia's fate. It had been easy for her to accept blame in releasing the Witch and possessing Azkadellia, but she had not accepted Azkadellia's confession about embracing the Witch's council, not for real. DG wanted to save Azkadellia and the only way to do that was if Azkadellia remained innocent.

Ambrose' senses told him that such believes were futile, but his feelings demanded he give DG a little room for hope. This put him in a terrible position. He pitied the person who would have to tell DG the truth that was plain to see for everyone else; that Azkadellia was too far gone for salvation, despite being only partially accountable for her actions. The Coffin would judge her and the screams of her downfall would burn into DG's memory, leaving her scarred for losing her sister twice.

DG moved a bit, and then turned to her side. Her sleepy eyes fluttered open and her face sought for the sunlight that landed near her. For a moment she was somewhere else, somewhere happy, until she remembered where she was and why. Sadness returned, and she sat up, throwing the Coffin an unsure look, sighing soon after.

"No change?" she asked him tentatively.

"No change," he shook his head.

Ambrose was about to stand up from his spot when she'd already stood up and ran to his side, sitting right next to him, all too close for his liking. He stiffened because of the closeness, trying his best to appear natural, while she didn't seem to notice a thing was amiss. If there was a change in DG from their travelling days together, it was an air of maturity, responsibility, in her adventurous and rebellious character. A Queen didn't have the luxury of always following her heart, and it was evident that DG was also realizing this.

She shifted, and he caught a whiff of her scent, so sweet and homey. It felt torturous to draw that breath, so he held it in once he had it, fearing of never getting this chance again.

"I've caused her so much pain," DG lamented, pulling her knees to her chest, locking them still with her arms. She felt responsible.

"At some point, we must learn to accept our mistakes, and understand that we are not responsible for the ripples they cause," Ambrose comforted her. He had given this a lot of thought, having recognized her motivation some time ago. Of course she loved her sister now that her childhood was regained, but she also tried to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders all for nothing.

"Aren't you _deep_," she joked back at him, poking his side playfully. He didn't return her playfulness though, just felt the uncomfortable torture of her closeness and worked on containing it. Ambrose's smile was strained.

"I,-" he started with uncertainty, "I have every reason to hate her for what she did. I have simply chosen to look at things differently." He confessed, fearing this would cross the unseen line.

DG was quiet at first, taken by her words. "I'm sorry Glitch," she apologized sincerely, "It's easy for me to forget that she hurt a lot of people I care about."

She hadn't started calling him Ambrose like most people had, probably because she still knew him as Glitch. He didn't mind it. It was something that only they shared together.

"Do you think other people could learn to forgive her?" she then asked, sounding unsure and perhaps a bit frightened as well.

He considered this for a second. "It's difficult to say, people react so differently – Some probably, but all? I fear we are not so evolved yet," he explained to her.

She took in his answer bravely, although it didn't exactly ease her conflict. The duality in Azkadellia was something she had trouble grasping. Her Azkadellia, so vivid in her memories, was a darling, the best big sister one could have, whereas the other was twisted and evil. How much of that persona had been the Witch and how much Azkadellia herself? Who was qualified to judge that? How could she make the people understand something she didn't understand herself?

DG leaned her head against Ambrose's shoulder absent-mindedly, sinking further into her messy thoughts. "Can she be saved?" she asked, finally surrendering to this question she had wished to avoid.

Ambrose held his breath for a bit, felt his chest tighten. Instead of his dark view of the future, he'd rather offer her hope. "She had worn a mask for a long time," he said eventually, "Can she still remember who she was underneath it? Or is there someone who can show her the kind of person she wants to be?"

She waited for an answer anxiously as he paused for a second.

"I don't know," Ambrose then admitted, looking at the Coffin on the other side of the room, resting majestically in the sunlight. "It all depends on her. No one can make her walk in fire if she decides it burns too hot."

"She's strong," DG assured more to her than him. Her face lit with almost childish belief. "She endured the Witch. She can endure this as well."

Ambrose didn't like thinking of her as naïve. In many regards she was not a naïve person, but Azkadellia was a blind spot for her, someone DG could not judge. Her mother had begun grooming her into the next Queen in silence, knowing in her timeless wisdom that Azkadellia was no longer a viable option. DG had many traits that would make her into an excellent ruler, but there was also room for growth. No matter how things ended, it wouldn't be easy. She would need to show her own strength in this ordeal and the aftermath.

Realizing she was inching too close, he stood up suddenly, disrupting their peaceful moment together. Although Ambrose clouded his discomfort with jarring smiles and movement, it shone through briefly. He too had a mask he needed to wear, but in his case the mask was his old identity, not his new one. He desired to be Glitch more than he desired to be Ambrose.

"I should check with the guards," he announced with an awkward voice, not quite balanced between the act and his genuine anxiety.

DG frowned at the sight of his strange behavior, but couldn't voice her questions, for he had already gone by the time she could utter her first word. Instead she was left in the room – Azkadellia's former quarters – alone.

She hadn't preoccupied herself with the arrangements of their stay. Someone had always brought her food, helped her find a comfortable spot to sleep in, and informed her of the happenings outside. Now she could feel a sting of embarrassment for realizing this. It wasn't fair to lose her here when her responsibilities and kingdom waited, yet she wasn't ready to let go either.

She knew there would be a time she could no longer be this selfish, when she would have to think of everyone else first. DG would rather hold onto this moment where she was still free from the responsibility, unscathed by the power that had intoxicated her sister. She could see clearly that this was difficult for everyone else though; that they were here for her, not Az. Of course she was grateful and felt blessed to have such friends, but the truth remained that she knew quite well this could not go on.

In time she would have to face reality and act as judge to her sister's bloodstained legacy. Then she could no longer look at Azkadellia with her sentimental eyes. If the Coffin deemed her sister worthy, it would be her job to appease the people who desired her sister dead. It seemed like an impossible task to accomplish.

DG made her way to the Coffin, sat next to it and leaned her body against its smooth side. The Coffin didn't react to her touch and no noise escaped it. She knew Azkadellia was aware though, could sense it beneath the pulse of the ancient mind. The fear and dread she sensed inside were a cloud of dark intentions, hovering around her and the relic.

"_Two little princesses dancing in a row_," she began singing softly, and continued with a melancholy voice, "_Spinning fast and freely on their toes, where the night will take you there's only one way to know_."

She swallowed, vanquishing the negative emanating within the Coffin with her song, calming her sister. Her voice carried further as she continued; it sounded more nursing, more loving, "_Two little princesses dancing in a row…_"

* * *

The wagon stopped after an endless journey, weighted down by silence. Anticipation was all over Zero's body; it had crept into his blood stream, it nourished his muscles, his mind. He waited obediently, showing unusual patience as Cain proceeded with the necessary caution in getting them on the move. Others came to watch over while Cain exited the wagon. Hands grabbed Zero, pulled him up and on the ground.

The light was dim by now, the sky reduced to cloudy and ominous. Zero wasn't given much chance of regaining his footing, let alone absorbing his surroundings. They were immediately on the move, headed towards the entrance of the Sorceress' castle. This had once been a glorious pinnacle of her power, and now the castle was reduced to an abandoned skeleton with its riches robbed and its inhabitants long gone.

For the first time Zero considered the time that had passed. Days and weeks no longer sufficed, did they? Deterioration of this level would require months, he realized to his horror, keeping his eyes fixed on the small details, the crannies and nooks of his former home.

His escorts pulled him onwards, and Cain led them further into the depths of the castle. It no longer rained, but a cool breeze of air dominated these halls. Zero's dirty hair, a tad overgrown during his imprisonment, hung over his face, hiding his calculating eyes. His walking was labored; it clearly required more focus than usual with each muscle screaming at him for rest already. Zero followed though, struggling to remain on his feet. Cain had given him something to eat along the way, but hunger was already clutching his insides. It was insignificant to what lay ahead though; it could be brushed aside.

Stairways, an elevator, a long hallway of reflective floors and surreal emptiness followed as they proceeded. They passed by some guards, clearly the protective detail of someone important, he deducted and decided he didn't care. Zero recognized the last hallway though as Azkadellia's private corridor that connected with her quarters. He found it distasteful that they had turned her home into her gallows, but he did not complain.

Eventually they reached the doorway, and Cain signaled them to a halt. Zero was left suspended by the men escorting her as his own legs gave away under his weight. He felt positively drained, but his willpower kept him going regardless.

Cain opened the double doors leading to their destination and entered alone. Zero heard his voice speaking, conversing with his allies in the distance. Something unexplained bothered him, a feeling of unease had settled inside his body. He wanted to look, to see, but at the same time, he wanted to keep his head down and be ignored. Scents and sounds roused old memories; he almost expected to walk inside, and find _her_ by her mirror, waiting for the strings of her corset to be loosened.

A young girl appeared into view. He didn't recognize her at first, but then he caught his elusive thoughts and placed her. This was DG, Azkadellia's young sister who had resurfaced in the O.Z. and rebelled against her rule after being assumed dead for nearly a decade. The way everyone around her treated her, Zero could tell she held the power here. How strange for this one to oversee Azkadellia's torture herself, he thought bitterly and raised his face to see her, to stare her down.

DG found Zero's intense glare unnerving yet magnetic. It demanded her attention, cursing her for reasons unknown, unspoken.

"I want him restrained at all times," Cain advised them all, pointing his words especially to DG. She nodded without enthusiasm, trying to grasp why this man's name was on her sister's lips at a time like this.

"You should behave," she then said to him, surprising Zero with her frankness, "We're doing this for her, not so that you can start up trouble again."

A twisted smirk decorated his face. "I find that hard to believe."

Zero glanced around him, waiting for the soldiers to let him go, but their grip remained. He pointed his eyes on DG again. "She calls for me and me alone," he explained, alluding to his wish for privacy.

Cain quickly snorted at the hint with contempt. "We are not leaving. Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of us."

A soft moan pierced his ears, drew his attention in an instant; Zero's head snapped towards the source of the sound, an area unseen by him in his current position. DG also heard it; it crumbled her decisiveness a bit, hearing Azkadellia begin again. For the first time since this had begun, she saw someone else react to Azkadellia's pain with equally undivided attention.

Zero tugged at his arms a bit, struggling free. Cain gave the guards a distinctive nod and they freed Zero, releasing him to the floor. His hands were still bound, but he found new strength, kneeling and then standing up all on his own. His steps were disjointed as he walked past the trio of DG, Ambrose and Cain, and continued towards the Coffin that slowly came into view.

All eyes were upon him now, on his slow approach. Zero didn't see or hear them though; his attention was on the Coffin, this dreadful creation he had always feared and shunned. Nothing betrayed what it held inside; it looked almost harmless at first. But the closer he got, the clearer her wailing voice became. He started making out more than just noise: a ragged breath, yelps of pain followed by sobs and aggressive growls.

He kneeled by the Coffin, settling himself near its deceptive front. His gut screamed at him to run while he still could, to look away from this deceptive thing. He wasn't as immune to its call as the rest of them were; no, he understood its hunger quite well and was the ideal victim for its touch. A survivor would've followed his instincts, yet Zero brought his bound hands over the Coffin's lid, moved his fingers across the smooth surface. When he turned his head towards his audience, to take in their mesmerized faces, their lack of understanding, he could hear the Coffin breathe a whimper, his name.

There had been a time when he would've stricken them all down in her name without hesitation. But now the Coffin called him to it with an almost magnetic pull; it was unexplainable how strongly he felt it. It felt timeless; its carvings had embellished it with power that surpassed any living thing today. Years from now Zero would be gone and the Coffin would remain, judging the guilty all the same. His petty grievances felt small in the Coffin's shadow.

He rested his hands on the lid, positioned himself so he could sit there comfortably. In no time he realized he was caressing its surface, like it was _her skin_ he touched, with love and care.

"Azkadellia," he spoke finally, sounding neither loving nor hateful. "Can you hear me?"

Everyone waited for an answer almost breathlessly, but he wasn't surprised when none came.

"You never did listen to me, you headstrong bitch," he said, sounding quite affectionate despite the insults. "Why not start now?"

He brushed his dirty face against his shoulder to remove some of the grime, but it was difficult to act with the restraints. Then he leaned over, kissing the surface of the relic, just as he had kissed her hand so many times in the past to prove his loyalty.

"I'm still yours," he vowed. "And I will do your bidding."

TBC


	8. Catharsis

8. Catharsis

Azkadellia stood in the crossroads of her memories, the woods the doppelganger had claimed as his own. Winter had come and snow had covered the ruins of her childhood, which she had eagerly destroyed as a rite for her coming of age. Finaqua looked deserted and distant now; snow fell silently, gathering in her hair, melting over her bare skin. She had her blue dress on, that same dress she had worn the day DG had run off and left her to be claimed by the Witch, but she was an adult now.

The land was covered in fog. It seeped into the scenery through the pores of the earth, gathering to the ground, covering the sleepy sun in the skies. Her breath became steam, but she didn't truly feel cold here.

Behind her the doppelganger stood, unaffected by the cold. He had clasped his hands together. There was an air of finality in this moment: The beginning of the end.

"I expected a memory beneath it all," he said to her, mooning at the sight of the barren land that winter had claimed. "Most have a memory, something so painful it's buried deep," he then proceeded to explain as he walked past her.

The faux Zero spread his arms, watching as the snow melted when it landed on his skin. "But all you have is this: An empty core with a lifeless future."

There was no sign of life here. The mimicry of the O.Z. was quiet and still. Azkadellia didn't answer her host though.

"Is this the end you dreamed of?" he wondered aloud, "A world where no one could hurt you."

He shook his head. "The human mind is truly capable of such horrible things. Take you for instance. With proper guidance a witch found endless inspiration in your dark desires and fears. Instead of using your power for the better of your people, you terrorized them and destroyed your mother's legacy."

She had no smug answers, no desire to deny his suggestions. She watched the snowflakes melt on her fingertips, the endless white in the horizon. Yes, it was peaceful here. She had built this place as her final dominion, a safe place from the Witch. She had hid here when DG had pierced through and called for her to take her hand.

The surface of the snow shimmered. Azkadellia could picture young DG dancing in the snow, tossing it about, covering herself in it. But not her, she was the reasonable one.

Drops of red fell into the snow, reminded her of the reality. She was wounded and weakening by the hour. Soon she would have no strength to fight this thing, or any desire really. Would it be for the best if she perished here? Would she pay for her misdeeds then? Somehow Azkadellia didn't believe that. Death was easy; it made heroes of peasants, martyrs of believers, villains of the misunderstood. She didn't want to go out like this.

"If there's nothing else to see," she said, "Can we please get on with it?"

He smirked. "Get on with what, Princess?"

"I came to be judged, didn't I?" she announced with her head held high.

The harrowing memories she had to face had shown her much that had been previously concealed. They had forced her to admit her helplessness in the face of her mentor, her own potent feelings for Zero, yet they had also made her realize she didn't need to cower before anyone again. In spite of the horrors she had witnessed she was still alive and now the creature had nothing else to throw at her face. She endured.

And the doppelganger saw this as well, her inner strength shining through. Many would've fallen in despair, but she held on bravely. Even with her charges laid in front of her, undeniable in their extent, she believed in something better. It was no longer blindness to her part in all of this, but genuine faith. For someone largely considered twisted and evil, she certainly inspired respect.

The doppelganger was hesitant in allowing them to proceed. She was his only source of amusement, a maelstrom of emotion that nourished him, a wealth spring from which he flowed. Without her darkness was imminent, his presence once again uncelebrated and forgotten. Generally the minds he peered into were unspeakable, horrible, but hers was strangely pleasant. She was a fear-inspiring leader, a cursed name that had imprinted her name into history through terror and blood, yet she remained one of the few in his embrace who weren't thoroughly corrupted. In comparison Azkadellia was almost comfortable.

To her surprise he waded through the snow that separated them and then pulled her in his arms. Her insides quaked at his touch, her heartbeat raced. Again she was faced with his uncanny resemblance to Zero, affected by it unwittingly. Her body pressed against his, those endless eyes peering into her.

"You could stay here," he offered her, sounding deadly serious.

"We would have an eternity. And you wouldn't have to continue this charade," he explained, running his eager fingers over her cheek while one hand held her still. He fooled all her senses, convinced every one of them that he was the real deal. Only her mind persisted.

"_Why_ would I want to stay here with _you_?" she nearly spat, trying to tear away from the pretender, but he wouldn't let her. His hold grew stronger.

"You would be safe from pain Azkadellia. Isn't that what you desire: A dead world to be locked in, a place where you can hurt no one?" His tone of voice was so caressing, almost loving. A random observer would've seen this as a love scene between two people.

And his offer wasn't completely without its merit. He did desire her company, the world she had crafted her for herself, inhabited only by them. In hindsight, it would've been something she would have accepted unless he hadn't already shown her the truth.

"You can't offer me anything. It's all lies!" she resisted, raising her voice at her second observation. Azkadellia's struggle grew fierce, her disgust at the thought apparent. It stripped the lie he upheld, reduced him to a doppelganger once more, and made her ache for the real thing more furiously.

She pushed him away, stumbling backwards when he suddenly let go, tipping over and into the snow bank. He watched with visible sadness as she fell, disappointment in his face.

Azkadellia prepared to spew curses at him when she saw children running across the snow, their laughter resounding in the air. She stopped to look and forgot why she was mad. Young Azkadellia and DG ran carefree, playing and smiling, unaffected by the present, until Azkadellia swung her hand through the mirage and they vanished.

She didn't find the doppelganger anywhere anymore, but that did not dilute her rage. She turned to the skies, shouting and blustering, "I've made my bed and I will lie in it!"

There was no answer though, just the barren land around her and the sad echo of her own voice. Azkadellia glanced at her hands again, finding them red with blood. She grabbed some snow and tried to wash the blood away, only managing to spread it. Her frustration grew, drawing hateful lines in her expression until she was twisted by rage.

"Let's end it!" she screamed. "Can you hear me? Let's end it!"

* * *

He woke in the dead of night, alerted by the muffled noise from within the Coffin. Zero hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep, but he was fully awake within seconds, listening closely to the Coffin. He wanted nothing more than to tear the lid open and free her. It was just not in his power.

Waiting and watching was truly the worst punishment, he realized this now. In his anger he had bestowed such a fate on his former friend, never looking back. Only now did he truly understand the cruelty for which Azkadellia had applauded him. Was he too nothing but an observer, forced to witness her death in slow motion, cursed to forever remembering it and his own helplessness?

The noise he'd heard was gone by the time he focused on listening. She didn't stir or move in between. Truthfully he was more afraid of the silence than the noise. Complete silence could mean death as well, whereas noise always proved she was still with him. Who'd have known he would settle for so little – just to know she was still alive?

His head was throbbing; the ill after effects of his stay within the iron suit seemed to work like acid on his muscles and brain. Ghost pain lingered everywhere, punishing him for no clear reason. He could rest his head upon the Coffin though. It didn't shun him, but rather accepted its role as something to support his weary body. He held onto it like a man clinging to floating wood at sea.

Further away he could hear hushed voices in the corridor. Cain was sleeping with his revolver in his hand, facing Zero. DG and her other friends were off somewhere. Two guards sat a bit further away, unmoving.

"Can you hear me?" Zero asked her softly, shedding his cruel skin for once. "_I need you hold on_, do you hear me?"

His monologue was not answered, but it didn't matter. Saying these things in the face of ancient wood was easier than speaking them to her. After all these years, he felt he needed to say them now.

But his calm was intruded by the sound of her voice, speaking a cruel omen.

"Let's end it," she whispered in her dreamful state.

* * *

She walked for what seemed like an eternity through the snow, making her way towards her castle. Her kingdom was covered in permafrost. The scenery was beautiful but hollow. Nothing lived here but her and her taunting host. As she walked Azkadellia focused on listening. For awhile there, she'd been certain she'd heard something or someone speaking to her. The words were too mangled to make out, yet this elusive ray of hope was something she held onto, continuing to listen to the skies.

In the middle of being lost, suffering from the cold and the unnerving feeling of being watched, Azkadellia could suddenly feel something familiar. A rustling sound like nature's sigh, only she knew better than that. It was the voice of a friend from the past, a voice she could not quite place in this nightmare. It made her feel warm inside though, provided her with a sense of safety, assurance.

Something changed. It first there was no visible proof of it, for the game continued the same. She could feel the change on her skin though, a tingling on her lips.

She didn't mind the cold anymore when she walked, nor did she think the distance too long. This glimpse – a premonition or whatever it had been – pushed her onwards as she realized she wanted it to become reality. She wanted to hear him speak again, to kiss him again. If that meant paying the price of facing her judge and taking responsibility for her actions, then so be it. But if she stayed here, submitting to the will of an ancient thing eager to end her, she knew she would never wake again.

The gates of her castle appeared into view, opening for their Queen. She walked down the empty halls, her steps echoing in her dreamscape, this crude imitation of reality. Azkadellia walked into her throne room proudly at first, then taking notice of the figure sitting on her throne. This sight effectively stopped her where she stood. It was another doppelganger, but this time it had taken the adolescent form of her sister, DG.

Young DG sat on the throne legs crossed, appearing bored. She wore her red dress from that day long ago.

"Only one can hold the emerald and take the throne," the doppelganger said with her fragile voice. Her words sounded like mockery to Azkadellia, who had once justified her actions with this flawed logic. Her hunger for acceptance had led her to hunger for power. That power hadn't given her anything.

"She can be the one, I don't care anymore," Azkadellia professed.

The doppelganger listened to her carefully, taking in Azkadellia's entire appearance as she did so. Much had changed since they had first begun. At one point it had looked as if Azkadellia would shatter for good, yet now the fractures were fewer, and she seemed so certain of herself. She then watched with surprise as Azkadellia backed her words with a mocking bow, kneeling shortly afterwards.

"You want to be judged, Azkadellia," the doppelganger said softly, "and judged you shall be."

An ominous feeling filled Azkadellia, it crept into her body, tensing every muscle. She was ready to hear it now. There wasn't anything else to show. There wasn't anything else to say. The Coffin had seen more than any living person before it.

"You are hollow," her host then announced, pity pouring into her sweet voice. "Why should I give you another life, when you only dream of destruction?"

Her head snapped at the young girl's face, confusion spreading like a virus in her system. Azkadellia was quickly overcome by utter bewilderment at this rejection. She waited to see a mocking smile or any sign that she was played still, but none arrived to her aid.

"Did you not see?" she asked with heartbreak in her voice. "Did you not see what _she_ did to me? How she pushed me and pulled me, and took away my memories to make me into her?" Her eyes narrowed and she was left wide open, having expected sympathy from this creature, a truer vision.

The doppelganger looked too small for the extravagant throne. She lifted her hands from her lap to the handles, looking back at Azkadellia without of a hint of compassion. Instead her eyes were glazed, her voice monotonous. "I saw everything. Surely, the O.Z. will be a better place without you Azkadellia," she explained.

Her words pierced Azkadellia's chest, drew out pain without measure. "No," she shook her head in disbelief. "There is _light_ in me yet."

"DG is the daughter of Light. She is the salvation of the O.Z., whereas you nearly destroyed it," her host explained.

"No!" Azkadellia objected, raising her voice to dangerous levels now. "You were never fair; you wanted me here from the beginning!" She accused, standing up.

"Hush now; it is time to stop fighting. I can give you a quick death," the child offered, extending her hand to Azkadellia almost kindly.

But as Azkadellia approached, it became clear she wasn't relenting. Her walk was slow and decisive, her eyes became sharp. Long raven black hair flowed freely on her shoulders, her simple dress only increasing her witch-like appearance. But there was something in her the child could not read at first, an emotion that was dominant. Her mind was set.

"I'm no one's slave!" Azkadellia said, reaching the doppelganger.

She grabbed the child's hand, and in seconds her touch set flames into the doppelganger. DG's face wasn't untouched by this for long; she erupted into a scream in seconds, pain flaring in her eyes, and she began to struggle free from Azkadellia's hold. In a second her body flickered, changing form into something more useful as she became Zero again.

Azkadellia didn't let the shock distract her; she held onto his wrist with all her power, grinding her teeth as he tried to pry her hands away. The doppelganger didn't speak though, just stared at her with its suffering eyes, trying its best to be let free. They struggled together, and she didn't quite notice who tripped first, but suddenly they were both rolling down the stairs, still locked together in contact. She moaned in pain, felt strength flee from her fingers, but cried again in anger and enforced her grip once they stopped moving.

Her hands wrapped around his throat and she strangled him with all her might, unmoved by his stolen face anymore.

She could feel the flesh peel from the doppelganger, and her flames were beginning to lick her skin as well. She waited for the creature to plead for its life, yet this never happened. A blow came from the side, his fist connecting with her face. It disconnected her from the moment, but she retaliated quickly, kneeing him in the stomach, pushing herself atop him.

The flames engulfed them both now, draining her. Azkadellia stopped feeding them and focused on just keeping the creature down. It didn't take her long to realize she no longer needed to do anything. The doppelganger screamed a hitch-pitched scream that nearly deafened her. Around her the castle, sustained only in her mind, began to collapse.

She released a painful growl for the first time as the burning began to reach her, but she didn't move away from the doppelganger. More cries erupted, and the creature fought back, trying to throw her off, to make its escape. She held it down with her own body while everything became black.

* * *

He felt the heat first, glanced at the guards to see if it was their doing. When he realized that the Coffin was emanating the heat, Zero began to connect the dots. He banged the lid of the Coffin with his bound hands, waking Cain with the noise.

"Azkadellia!" he called to her, increasing his strength and beat when there was no response. He felt the warmth on his thighs now, moved away enough to keep banging the lid. The ruckus invited guests in the room, but he carried on in spite of them and their questions, only focused on the threat he had perceived.

"Azkadellia!" Zero shouted, angered by the increasing heat he felt. It was but a minor annoyance to him now, but it had to be torturous for her by now. As he continued to beat the lid its surface turned hotter, and he felt the brief contact burn his skin. Sweat gathered at his brow, gluing his hair onto his forehead; He carried on single-mindedly regardless.

"Zero, what's going on?" DG inquired, running up to him, visibly distressed with his behavior.

"It's burning," he simply stated, withdrawing his hands when the surface burned him again. He closed his mouth around the burn to ease the pain, but knew it was futile. DG's eyes widened in horror when she saw his hands, how they were already full of burns.

"Cain!" she yelled, kneeling by Zero, pulling a scarf from her pocket to tie his hands with. He refused her care, pulling away instantly with a scorning expression and then starting his earlier action again.

"Answer me!" he shouted at the silent victim within the Coffin.

DG stood up and looked at Cain, not knowing what to do anymore. He evaluated the situation quickly, feeling the warmth on his face and body. "She will suffocate in there," he said, putting his revolver away.

Zero was suddenly standing next to him, his uneasy eyes upon Cain. "Cut me loose," he said, making it an order instead of a request. His tone was too authoritative for the situation.

Cain didn't budge or acknowledge the request so Zero repeated it, lifting his bound hands for Cain to see, "Free me!"

They stared at one another, contemplating violence, when DG stepped between them. "Do as he says," she instructed with a frown. "We need all the hands we can get."

Ambrose appeared into view with a sword in his hands and placed it into the visible place where the lid connected with the coffin, trying to force it open. The soldiers followed his example, each taking other ends of the Coffin.

It wasn't until Azkadellia started screaming inside that Cain followed through with DG's command and cut Zero's bonds with a knife. They didn't acknowledge this action at all, both simply joined in on the rescue, each trying their best to help. Ambrose's sword snapped into two, and he made room for Zero who kicked the side of the Coffin, still shouting at Azkadellia, waiting for response.

There was no smoke, but the heat was truly powerful. The soldiers backed down to remove their gear in order to get close to the Coffin again. The heat was also difficult for DG, who tried her best to ignore it, yet ultimately couldn't. She focused on her magic, thinking of coldness and wind, water and ice. Zero stood at the centre of their efforts, carrying on headstrong.

To any viewer their attempts would've just been a play of light and shadow, silhouettes hard at work, details unseen. The darkness obscured friend and foe; made them all stand for the same thing, the release of Azkadellia. But when all others grew tired and their patience wearied down their movement, one kept moving with obsessive dedication, ignoring the burns and the suffocating heat. In the end when Ambrose dragged DG away from the rest and held her still despite her objections, when Cain gave up and settled to watch, and the soldiers had already stopped, Zero continued still.

He refused the outcome they all had decided on. His weary voice called for her with desperation. He stopped only to breathe deep when the lack of air seemed to make him dizzy, and even then he inhaled her name and exhaled his command, "Azkadellia! Answer me!"

Silence prevailed; it was given a beat with their barely audible breathing. Zero's frenzy continued in violent bursts of rage pointed at the Coffin. He no longer cared where he kicked it or hit it, as he'd already used all the obvious tricks in trying to pry it open. Sweat dripped from his brow, falling over to the burns on his face. The salt on his wounds hurt less than the poison in his gut. Hope was draining from him as well.

And then a sound emerged. It was weak, pathetic, but it was there. Zero stepped forward again, trying his best to trace its source. A gasp, a rattle, emerged and then something resembling clawing from within the Coffin. Her voice erupted in another desperate scream, but unlike the rest this was clearly present, aware.

"Answer me!" Zero roared, grabbing the broken sword from the floor and hitting the lid with its handle. The noise became stronger, something he considered a vital sign, and he banged the lid more fervently.

"Az!" DG yelled, suddenly lighting the room with her power. The darkness hid in the face of light, vanquished. The light gave their struggle a face.

Zero's eyes saw the runes now, still intact. A thought crossed his mind and he grabbed the blade, carving through the runes the best he could. At first the wood seemed resistant to the outside force, but then, perhaps weakened by the heat, the blade began to sink deeper. He used it to ruin the artwork, the ancient writing that gave the Coffin its powers. By now he was sweating like a pig, nauseated and exhausted. But he was too close to give up now.

There was a sound, a click, which caught his attention. Zero backed down a bit, his eyes caught the lid pushing upwards the slightest bit, and he pushed the blade into that crack and turned it. He twisted the sword, using it to move the lid. It fought back, but gave out inch by inch. Heat blew against him from within the Coffin, a final breath on the lips of a dying creature. Then a delicate hand appeared into the opening Zero had created just now, and he could see it was burned like his hands were.

The sword was tossed aside, and he grabbed the lid with his own hands, pushing it off despite the burning. He lingered a second or two once he saw her again, caught in this vision of disorder; she was covered in withered roots of some kind, but they fell off her easily once he grabbed hold of her and lifted. Her eyes weren't open, but he could tell she wasn't as bad off as she could be; her magic must have protected her somewhat. Zero leaned in to pick her up, and with one hand behind her back and the other beneath her thighs he lifted her in his arms, carrying her to safety and leaving the cursed relic behind.

No one dared to move; all eyes were upon Zero now as he carried her away from the Coffin. Azkadellia's dress was ruined, stained in blood and torn by the vines. Her hair looked burned in some areas, but not everywhere. There were burns all across her body, some mild, some more serious. Her arms were also riddled with little scars, small round-shaped entry wounds. She appeared lifeless in his arms.

Zero looked at her mutely, kneeling on the floor once he was sure they were far enough. His strength began to fail him then, yet he held on, clutching her in his arms. The air was thick with the smell of burnt flesh; it nauseated him. He tried to swallow to ease the irritation in his throat, but it didn't quite seem to work.

He only said one thing to her as she lay motionless in his arms. "Answer me," he beseeched her, incapable of shouting commands at her when she was like this.

Alas, Azkadellia didn't react to his voice. She remained still in his embrace.

TBC


	9. Apprehension

9, Apprehension

Zero brushed his fingers against her face tentatively, pushing the fried locks of hair from her face, watching as the burns on her skin began to turn darker, scar tissue forming to protect her exposed flesh. He didn't dare touch her any more than was absolutely necessary, for he feared he might tear the burnt skin from her flesh with too much pressure and force. There was smutch all over her face, even if there was no clear trace of actual fire anywhere else in the room. Her arms were horrifying to look at with piercing wounds spread across their length, but he couldn't quite pry his eyes from them either.

Azkadellia was so still you could barely make out she was still breathing. And as tears fell over his cheeks he wasn't sure if it was the irritation of the heat, or having to look at her like this that was the cause. His gaze remained longing, and no sign of relief was present, just woe.

Ambrose finally let go of DG, and she pulled herself free from his hold, taking running steps towards Zero and Azkadellia. She reached them quickly, eyes widening at the sight of her battered sister. DG didn't get closer for she was warned off by Zero's hostile look that he quickly threw her way when he perceived a threat. She settled to watch, to evaluate.

"Is she still alive?" DG finally asked when she saw no visible signs of life in Azkadellia.

"Barely," Zero answered, eyes incessantly cast on Azkadellia. He didn't pay much attention to DG and even when he finally moved his gaze, he looked right past her to Raw.

"_You_," he said hoarsely at the Viewer. "You can heal her."

Raw flinched visibly at the sudden attention from Zero. He remembered all too well what this man had done and what his mistress had desired. Now he saw Zero staring at him with the same truculence, his features finally enlivened by conflict. Knowing what he was didn't make the thought of healing Azkadellia sit all too well with Raw. Yet as he glanced at DG and her shivering figure while she tried to swallow her emerging tears, he felt a stab in his conscience.

"She'll die if you don't help her," Zero said, addressing them all now. "Wasn't it enough you put her in that thing?" he then roared angrily, still in the dark about the details.

DG knew it was asking a lot from her friend. His gift of empathy would link him with Azkadellia's mind; who even knew what was truly in there? She didn't want to put anyone in that position, yet saw no other option at this time. So she turned around to face Raw, to witness his apparent dilemma.

"I can't ask this from you," DG said, sounding truly heartbroken.

Raw's face softened in response though. "Raw know," he said in his own broken language. "Raw do this for DG anyway."

Zero watched this exchange with a stone heart. He didn't care for these people, and if the creature had refused, he would've certainly drawn out a sword and let it sing with malignant intent until the Viewer had agreed. This was better though. The little sister was useful in making the others pliant, even if she had little other use at this time, he concluded.

Raw walked up to Zero and DG timidly, feeling especially uncertain of his decision when he saw the intensity in Zero. But he chose to focus on Azkadellia instead, this woman who looked more like a lifeless shell than the fierce sorceress from his memory. Raw kneeled next to Zero, his every move under constant watch by the former Longcoat, and brought his hands to Azkadellia's shoulder and stomach.

What followed was an excruciating sequence of images – memories, feelings – all poured onto Raw with violent speed. He gasped aloud, his breathing fastening with each new vision. Zero simply held Azkadellia close as if to protect her from these outsiders even as she writhed dolorously. Her wounds began to dissolve before his eyes while Raw worked his magic, immersing himself into the flow of Azkadellia's emotions.

Raw gritted his teeth at the pictures of violence, unspeakable things, but he also saw the loneliness, the constant battle for supremacy with the Witch, and the cruelty and abusiveness of this parasite that had lived within Azkadellia. To his surprise he found himself chasing something resembling light inside her, a silent song, in hopes of learning what had truly happened.

The burns faded, her hair grew back on. The pierce wounds on the hands were slower to heal for they were deeper. Zero watched this event with renewed hope, his gaze softening as she was restored the way she was supposed to be, unblemished. He tightened his hold on her when he decided she was in better condition now and could endure his strength without harm. Zero moved his hand to her cheek, now healed underneath his hand. Azkadellia was still unconscious, but there was an expression of serenity that had not been there before; it validated the use of Raw's healing.

Raw found himself chasing the common thread in Azkadellia's struggle, the red string that connected everything. He didn't understand much of what he was looking at, but the emotions were clear. They were a suffocating cloud, guarding the true Azkadellia beneath the façade. _I'm no one's slave,_ her voice resounded in his head, followed by her own cries as the flames engulfed her. Raw's expression grew disturbed, and his hand closed around Azkadellia's shoulder for support.

Images flickered in and out and in the middle of them there was a broken woman. _There is light in me yet, _she claimed with desperation. He could feel her life force beneath his fingers, a pulse beating strong. More images, emotions, truths. Raw didn't voice them here, just memorized what he saw to further contemplate on this.

Violent flashes showed him her during her most intimate moments, bare and unshielded. He saw her curse her being, curse the Witch. The deeper Raw looked, the more he understood that underneath all her theatrics and seeming coldness there was another person really, someone afraid to love and be loved. What had remained skillfully hidden beneath capricious evil hitherto was now unraveling before him: the true face of Azkadellia.

And then suddenly he felt a hand clutching his throat, sheer force pushing him away. "Stop," Zero commanded tiredly, shielding Azkadellia by pulling her closer to his chest.

Raw's hands lost contact and the link was severed, closing Azkadellia's mind to him for good. His reaction to Zero's action was laced with disappointment, for now that Raw saw her for what she was his fear faded and he felt genuine compassion for her. Raw stayed where Zero had pushed him, knowing full well Zero would retaliate if he tried to get closer again. He touched his own throat with his hand, finding it only slightly bruised. Zero had avoided using unnecessary force this time.

Azkadellia appeared to be mostly healed by now. You could still make out the traces of the wounds, new skin not yet blended with the old, but there no cuts, no burns, no visible source of discomfort or pain.

DG responded to Zero's hostility by turning to Cain now. Things were slipping out of hand, and while she was grateful to Zero for his concern, she recognized his fierce protectiveness was complicating things unnecessarily at this point.

"Cain," she called, summoning him forth. "I think it's time we detain him."

Zero's eyes shot back at DG, a hint of betrayal present. His face twisted into a cruel smile. "I've outlived my usefulness then?" he asked with more bite than usually.

Cain stepped forward, revolver aimed at Zero. He didn't appear conflicted at all. "It's about time we put you in a cage where you belong," he said, motioning Zero to step back with the barrel of his weapon.

Zero didn't move though. He was at the end of his strength, wounded and exhausted both emotionally and physically. Fighting wasn't a real option for unnecessary commotion would only make things more difficult for them both, yet he didn't want to give her up either. There was no telling what they would do to her now. He didn't trust the saviors of the O.Z. one bit.

Another uncomfortable silence had landed between them, and Cain found his threats to be largely idle against Zero. Before, when they had been in the woods alone and his hunger for revenge had been out of control, Zero had known fear because he knew they were beyond law and legislation. But now, with DG on his side and Zero bravely stepping in to save Azkadellia, he knew he couldn't shoot Zero, and Zero knew this as well. This put them in an effective stalemate and forced him to think outside the box in ending it.

"Your loyalty is wasted on her," Cain suddenly noted, aiming at provocation. This immediately caught Zero's attention and brought forth the ruthless streak in his character that still abided by some twisted concept of honor.

"She doesn't care about you unless you're useful," Cain continued, drawing surprised looks even from his friends. They had seen little of the true discontent he held for this man.

"Isn't that why she didn't come for you, despite being free for months?" he then questioned, striking Zero with this revelation.

Zero was suddenly at a loss of words. He wanted to attack Cain for his insolence, yet he could taste the truth in Cain's words. This was no lie. Had she truly abandoned him until now? Why? Had he not been loyal to her while others had fled? Had he not done enough?

"You know I'm telling the truth. Your Sorceress didn't care what had happened to you. She didn't even ask about you until she chose this ordeal," Cain explained with a steel voice.

DG felt fear clutch her insides as she watched Zero's controlled façade crumble before their eyes. Cain's words struck him hard, anyone could see that, but she was worried about the man's capability for self-control. It was dangerous to kick him while he was down and especially when he was the one holding Azkadellia.

Zero lowered Azkadellia from his arms and onto the floor carefully, hating how her warmth fleeted him in seconds. He positioned her on the floor to ensure she was comfortable, and then rose to meet Cain's harsh truths. Zero could barely stand tall; he swayed a bit, but showed his uncomfortable trademark grin nevertheless, challenging Cain.

"Your wife was a whore," he whispered, quickly reacting as Cain launched his fist at Zero's face.

The hit missed just a bit, and Zero responded by jabbing Cain into the gut. In just seconds the two men were all over one another, their conflict erupting into a long overdue fist fight. At first Zero seemed focused and he moved with speed, dodging Cain's punches admirably. The tables turned after awhile as exhaustion began to claim Zero again and Cain actually managed to hit him. Blood splashed onto the floor, wicked insults flew in the air, and their tired dance continued.

DG used the opportunity to check on Azkadellia and she was joined by Ambrose. Realizing that Cain and Zero were only growing more and more furious, they opted to carry Azkadellia to safety and examine her, whilst the soldiers kept watch on Cain and Zero. DG was beyond worried for her sister, but Ambrose's examination and conforming assurances helped ease her mind.

"She doesn't appear permanently injured. I would suggest a real doctor have a look at her though," Ambrose advised, finding Raw's power quite potent this time around.

DG nodded to him in understanding, relieved to find Azkadellia alright for the most part. The countless days they had spent in this forsaken place, waiting for signs of progression, for the trial to end, had been trying on her. She could only imagine what it must've been like for Azkadellia.

Meanwhile growls of pain and anger, taunts, punches and kicks were exchanged between Zero and Cain. Zero endured the pain to get in better position to harm his former friend, whereas Cain tried to be more careful. He recognized Zero's daredevil style of fighting as desperation and anger, adjusting his own actions accordingly. He tried to stay atop, to preserve his strength and weary down his adversary.

One punch sent Cain back, and all of the sudden Zero slipped by his watch, inching close enough to grab his head and hit it with his face, blinding Cain for a moment. Zero didn't even feel the hit or the trail of blood creeping down his forehead afterwards; he was driven into bloodlust, adrenaline clouded his sensitivity to pain, pushing it aside in favor of swift action, when by all accounts Zero should've also bent in the middle, holding his face in agony like Cain did.

There was a spew of curses on Cain's lips, words vile and crude, but a seeming fit on his lips. He flew back a bit, struggling to stay on his feet when Zero hit him again, shoving his fist into Cain's stomach and the painfully soft tissue there. Somewhere in the corner of his eyes Cain caught the soldiers moving in to intercept, but he shouted at them to stay back, focusing his energy on Zero and his bloodstained smirk again.

Cain distracted Zero with his fists, but retaliated by sweeping Zero off his feet with a precise kick instead. Zero tumbled onto the floor, losing balance instantly and meeting the hard floor with a thump. Blood burst from his lips onto the floor and the front of his shirt. Cain quickly walked to him and slammed his elbow into his ribs, thus eliciting an excruciating scream from Zero.

The world quaked with unclear noise and pain. Zero's senses were overcome by it as he fell to the floor. All he tasted was blood, all he saw was Cain, and all he wanted was an explanation. Zero reached for Cain's revolver, grabbing it and pointing the barrel at Cain now. Everything seemed to freeze as Cain turned to Zero slowly, realizing what he was holding. Shock visited his face.

Zero wanted to pull the trigger, wanted to end this futile conflict, yet he grabbed the gun by its barrel instead, and smacked Cain's face with the revolver's handle. Cain was thrown off by the hit, left to gather his senses, lost in vertigo, while Zero tried to fumble back to his feet. Zero hit him again to the side of his head, surging forward and falling over almost instantly after. Everything was unresponsive at this point. He spat blood and saliva onto the floor in a sudden gush and tried to swallow the remaining fluids in his mouth.

And then, as he was trying to get back up and he crawled onwards on all fours, he suddenly felt a blade press against his neck. Zero looked up bewildered and saw DG stand there, eyes fierce and fortified against his excuses.

"This ends now," she said to him, wielding the blade in a manner that convinced him she would use it if he gave her reason to. For a few seconds she was the spitting image of her older sister, the woman he was so helplessly entangled with.

Zero relented, feeling he'd given everything. His body desired rest, even as his mind wanted to fight. He simply hung his head and nodded weakly, then letting himself slide over the floor. His aching limbs thanked him for the rest, while his eyes remained set on Azkadellia, whom they had laid over a sofa a bit further away.

DG glanced at Cain who was knelt close by. He was still holding his bleeding face that Zero had smacked with the gun, and she could see his nose was injured. In the middle of the battle Ambrose had already made arrangements for Azkadellia's transport and more soldiers arrived from downstairs to escort her. Ambrose stared emptily at the rest of them, at Raw who had retreated from the room and lingered at the doorstep with a worried expression, DG who threatened Zero like a warrior goddess, Cain who was overcome by his injury, and Zero who had fallen to his side and kept breathing heavily.

DG then marched to Ambrose. "Az needs medical attention. Make sure we get her back to the castle safely," she instructed, taking charge in the messy situation.

Ambrose had the words on his lips, but he hesitated to speak them. The question was on all their minds now though; had Azkadellia truly passed the test of the Coffin and survived because she was redeemable? He held his tongue though and nodded at her commands, walking to Azkadellia. He picked her a moment later, lifting her with care and carrying her towards the corridor where the soldiers waited for him.

She was lighter than she appeared, having lost weight constantly during her stay at the capital, hiding behind closed doors. Ambrose found her weight quite easy to carry, and when he glanced at her sleeping face he saw something in her he hadn't noticed before. Beneath the dirt and messy hair was a luminous being, someone with the power to break hearts by simply existing. Ambrose frowned at the discovery, the thought of her as beautiful in her dreamful state. Could've it just been the serenity on her face that highlighted her fine features, when he was used to seeing her as distant and unyielding?

Raw joined him in the corridor, stealing looks at Azkadellia hesitantly as well. She was different now that he knew her secret, this hidden side of her. He wondered if she even knew herself that was worthy; that she had passed the test and been released by the Coffin? Somehow he doubted it, knew that she would not allow herself to admit being let go, being considered salvageable. It was rather sad how she would rather think she needed to claw her own way out of the Coffin and be tricked into thinking she had done it all by herself.

The soldiers besides them whispered, wondering as well whether she was still alive or not. Ambrose did not answer their queries; he simply walked on silently, feeling now was not the time to announce her survival. Raw agreed, knowing what trial this had been on her. With time she would recover, and then he would tell her if she did not already know it herself; that in her there was a seed of forgiveness, a new beginning. In the end Azkadellia had been the only person to judge herself, and she considered her worthy of salvation.

DG then ordered more soldiers to detain Zero. At this point Cain had gotten back on his feet, and he was wiping the blood from his face vigorously. "I'll handle Zero," he volunteered and tried to move to intercept the soldiers, when DG placed her hand on his chest and stopped him then and there.

"You're not in your right mind to handle him now," she said, her voice laced with disappointment. Cain was about to argue against her, but she shot him with a cynical look and pointed at his injury. "He knows how to make you tick and we don't need that right now."

Cain accepted her observations with humility and settled to watch as the soldiers forced Zero's hands behind his back, tied them, and then made him kneel on the ground. Zero's eyes followed Azkadellia at this point, never leaving her until she was out of his sight. He faced his apprehension mutely as he was probably still pondering Cain's earlier words.

Cain focused on the Coffin next; this broken thing that was charred from the inside and no longer exuded its own unique air. Was it destroyed? He wanted to study the thing, to know what had truly gone on within it concerning Azkadellia, but fear caged him. Perhaps the O.Z. would be better off with that thing destroyed? Maybe it was just better to leave it be…

DG left Cain to scan the Coffin in disbelief and led the soldiers that escorted Zero outside, still holding the sword in her hands. They put him in the same wagon he had arrived in, hooded him and then gave him a firm blow to the head to minimize resistance. DG opted to stay with them during the transport. She knew many still held grudges, and didn't want to take Zero from Cain to another person with grudge. Also she honestly wanted to make sure he was alright. Zero had been instrumental in saving Azkadellia; he had carried on even when others had lost hope. If nothing else, she wanted him to remain intact until he could get a fair trial.

The air was cool outside Azkadellia's tower. Spring was upon them and the air was sweeter now, clean and fresh. Nothing much grew around here, but with DG's return to the O.Z., nature had also begun to recover. She spotted signs of wildlife spreading here, small sprouts all around. DG leaned against the wall at the front gate while the soldiers loaded Zero into the wagon. A bit further away Ambrose was putting Azkadellia in their carriage with Raw. Cain was still inside but would undoubtedly follow suit soon.

It was a starless night, one full of dread; somehow leaving now felt better than waiting for the morning. DG couldn't wait to leave this place behind and get back to her family. Yet she dreaded to close her eyes, fearing that everything would be consumed by flame while she didn't keep watch.

TBC


	10. Ubique

10. Ubique

Her dreams were restless: a violent haze of fire and screaming, an assuring touch here and there, the stinging scent of blood filling her nostrils, everything melting in sight, left dark and destroyed. She remembered weariness, life pouring from her body, heat fleeting, and the rise of vapor, barely distinguishable with the human eye, but there nevertheless, rising from cooling bodies. It swirled so beautifully in the air, vanished in just seconds like it had never been there in the first place.

This lasted for awhile; time became incomprehensible in her haze, and when she tried to stir awake, recognizing she could not give in to sleep at this troubling hour, she always went back down, always closed her eyes. Her lips mumbled incoherent sounds resembling words. Sweat pearled on her neck, glued her hair to her face. Days passed like this; one hour replaced by another, one looming figure replaced by another, and consciousness denied despite her attempts to regain it.

Then she began to stay awake for longer periods, minutes even. She would glance around in bewilderment, seeking for anything or anyone. But her strength was fleeting and her mind still recovering from the intrusion it had experienced, and thus Azkadellia would soon drift back into chaotic sleep. The faces above her bed distant and unknown melted into one that was threatening and unwanted, before vanishing altogether.

The morning she was finally able to remain awake, there was no one by her side. Azkadellia was greeted by an empty room.

Everything was monochromatic at first. Her sight lacked depth, and her body felt weary and uncomfortable. Ghost pain lingered on her skin, in the depths of her mind, but she couldn't quite tell what its cause was. Azkadellia recalled sleeping, dreaming of horrible things. And she recalled being held, being cared for. She remembered a voice calling for her, keeping her there. None of that was present anymore.

Everything about her felt foreign, unreal. Her hair was tangled and it smelled strange. She wore a gaudy nightgown that was imbued with the scent of sweat and blood, despite its apparent cleanliness. Her arms were heavy to lift, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Instead she stared at the ceiling above, the dance of light and shadows against its surface. Although the walls and windows blocked the noise outside, she could tell there were birds outside her window as their shadows cast onto the ceiling, dancing across it lightly, free from the earthly chains that still bound her.

How was she still alive? Azkadellia remembered what her judgment had been now; how she had attacked the Coffin in rage and set it aflame. It had nearly killed her as well, but somehow she had emerged victorious. How? By all accounts she should've been dead.

She turned her head on the pillow with effort as inflaming pain radiated from her neck, turning simple actions into exertion. She was still hurt and weak in the aftermath of her ordeal. A wave of disappointment passed through her, and she moved her hand to her face, feeling healthy skin beneath her fingers and nails. She remembered being burned, consumed by heat and its scorching tendrils. Again reality didn't correspond well with this memory.

Azkadellia sat up after a moment's struggle and reached for a mirror by her bedside table. Loathing passed through her system and emerged in jolts, little unwanted jerks across her body, before she could even look at herself from the reflective surface. She was shaking with repulsion, imaging her now ruined beauty in her head. It pushed her out of the bed and on her feet, even though she felt anything but ready for it, and the mirror in her hand was thrown across the room violently. It shattered against the floor, creating a loud and ominous sound that resounded in the roomy space like a broken record for awhile. The action helped release some of her aggression for being so helpless though, acting as another nasty reminder of what she had become during the long years under the Witch's tutelage.

Her long grey nightgown followed her steps with patience while she limped to the windows to see what was happening outside. Azkadellia stopped half-way though, when she realized that her reflection on the glass was unblemished. She didn't find a single scar or bruise or burn. For a moment she simply stared at herself in the stained glass, not knowing what to say or do.

Disillusion followed next, and Azkadellia began to wonder if she was still within the Coffin. Her steps made noise though, her hand could touch the walls and her bed, and she could see the way she had thrown off the covers on her bed. Could a dream be this vivid for real?

A wave of nausea passed by her, and she fumbled back into the bed, lying there until she felt it pass her by. Her skin was covered in sweat, her forehead felt hot, and everything in her head was a mess. Regardless Azkadellia tried to think. She remembered her final fortress, a world of snow and ice. She remembered being guided by a voice, a loving voice. _I'm still yours_, it had whispered to her, she recalled this now.

Azkadellia curled herself into a ball, trying to somehow minimize the sensations that overcame her. She could hear her heartbeat thunder in her ears, raging on and on. So she lay in her bed, face buried in the softness of her pillows, hand rubbing her stomach and its sore muscles to palliate the discomfort. Her arms felt wrong, like something was slithering under her skin, crawling over her flesh. But she didn't try and relieve this irritation, knew it was just an echo of what had come before.

There was a knock on her door, gentle and light.

"Azkadellia?" a voice inquired tenderly, laced with worry. Azkadellia could imagine a frown upon fine ageless features, a pout that was unbecoming of its owner. She understood she had invited this query by breaking the mirror, as if crying out for attention in her plight, but now that _help_ was here, she wasn't sure if she wanted it after all.

Her visitor didn't stay and wait for permission to enter though, much to Azkadellia's annoyance. She was still lying on her side, curled up and head buried in her pillows, when she heard the sound of the door opening, followed closely by the sound of footsteps entering her room. Azkadellia turned enough to gain a good view of the approaching figure, recognizing her mother instantly.

The Queen emerged from the doorway, appearing calm and collected. She approached without hurry, moving with utmost grace. It was easy to tell she had been raised as royalty, for everything in her was refined: her manners, her body language, her appearance, her speech, even her expressions reveled nothing unless she wanted them to. This was a woman who had ruled the O.Z. for centuries, a woman who did not vacillate or act impetuously. Azkadellia had once strived to be like her: unreadable, memorable and always in control. In hindsight Azkadellia may have succeeded excellently that task, albeit in her own uncaring manner, for hadn't her mother always been loving and gentle whereas she had chosen the opposite approach?

There was no one else, and the hallway behind the Queen was quiet, almost unnaturally so. This led Azkadellia to believe the news of her survival was not yet public. Probably only a few selected and trustworthy insiders knew of her condition and had permission to even enter Azkadellia's quarters at this time. It was all for the better though.

The Queen examined Azkadellia's reaction, her flushed face and swollen eyes, but she didn't find a trace of malice there. Actually her daughter looked more peaceful than she had in ages. Hoping this marked the beginning of a new era in their strained relationship she closed the door behind her and walked quietly to Azkadellia's bedside, sitting near her.

The noise that had disturbed the dead calm and invited her presence appeared to have come from a breaking mirror that was now in pieces on the floor a bit further away. The question was already on the Queen's lips, an invitation for understanding, yet she held it back, acknowledging her daughter's fragile state of mind. Perhaps it would be easier to approach with care and avoid unnecessarily exhausting topics?

"How are you feeling?" she asked her daughter instead, placing her smooth hand over Azkadellia's heated forehead, feeling her skin for fever. The sickness prevailed, symptoms of withdrawal becoming more and more evident. This was no surprise though; the Coffin's magic was powerful and addictive and Azkadellia had been under its influence for quite some time.

Azkadellia didn't dare look at her mother. Here they were, back at the beginning. Nothing had changed with her headstrong escape. The only difference lied in her, for she now knew the whole truth.

"What happened?" Azkadellia asked, sounding disillusioned, sad.

Her mother observed her warily, running the back of her fingers against Azkadellia's heated skin in effort to bring her comfort in her obvious vexation. Clearly she needed time to form the thought, to shape it so it would not alarm her daughter. Her mother had always been cunning that way, saying things in shapes and forms that caused less harm. Now, however, Azkadellia did not appreciate the courtesy.

"You were showing signs of malaise, unease. The thing you surrendered yourself to was hurting you," her mother said after a thoughtful pause. There was no visible judgment there, but Azkadellia knew very well what her mother had thought about her abrupt announcement. The Queen had been very much against it right from the start. Alas, she had been unable to stop the wheels once set in motion, much to her disappointment.

"I am told you were near death and barely survived," her mother explained kindly, pulling the covers over Azkadellia's body. Their eyes did not meet at that time, so her mother did not catch the clear response Azkadellia had to this revelation.

"When the Coffin began to burn, you had to be forced out. One of our Viewers, DG's friend Raw, healed your wounds. You were in terrible shape. It would appear that the Coffin was destroyed, but we do not know why there was fire."

Azkadellia swallowed painfully, sensing this was not the whole truth. She didn't know what to ask though, what to question. Her mother was excellent at twisting words, telling half-truths. There was a lingering feeling within her, a presence she had felt while sleeping. Had it just been the doppelganger, vivid as he'd been crafted from her memories? Had it simply been the reawakening of those old desires that had nearly driven her into taking the Coffin's offer?

"I'm still alive," Azkadellia whispered at this, deep in thought, not knowing what to think yet. Two things were clear now after this harrowing experience; Redemption and rebirth, finding who she was for real and making up the sins of the past, and keeping her promise to Zero, giving him freedom as long as there was life in her.

"Mother," she then said, clearing her voice, "The general of my… the Longcoats, Zero. Where is he?"

Her mother sighed, witnessing affection Azkadellia's tone. She had heard it from DG, but hadn't truly wanted to believe it. Now it was evident that Azkadellia's heart belonged to a terrible man, and she, also a victim of unwise love so long ago, knew quite well those were not bonds easily broken. She had fought to marry a man beneath her stature and faced fierce opposition about it, but at least Ahamo had been a good man, nothing like the sadistic Zero.

"Where is he?" Azkadellia repeated, having received no answer to her first question. Her mother had averted her eyes though, wishing to conceal the disapproval in them, but it was clear to Azkadellia. She had seen this face many times; it was memorized in her heart by now.

"I dreamed of him. Of the evil we did together. Of the orders I gave him. Please, I need to see him," she explained herself further, trying to bend the issue as if it was all about redemption, understanding the past. Yet the thought of him was vexing, a stone on her heart, heavy and suffocating. Just knowing would help ease her mind, keep her from trembling with guilt at night. What a conflict it was, completely overwhelming and sudden; knowing that she still ached for such a man.

Again, her mother observed carefully, weighing her options, choosing her words carefully. She could offer salvation for Azkadellia, but not this man. It was better for Azkadellia to lose hope, let that affection wither and die, than to let her believe there was any chance of reunion.

"He is imprisoned. A trial will be held," her mother explained, trying to sound neutral, yet her judgment shone through. Of course she didn't mean it as personal offense as she did not know the man other than by reputation. It was difficult to see the appeal though. There was something impish and rash about Zero, disrespect and rebellion rooted deep in him.

"When?" Azkadellia asked abruptly, shocked by this news. She turned on her back now, to look into her mother's eyes as they spoke, wary of their deceptive expression.

"It was recently. You were within the Coffin," the Queen responded, speaking half-truths.

The grim reality opened before Azkadellia now. Whatever her future was, free or condemned, Zero was on his own path, had to pay their crimes alone. The thought was unbearable, even as it should've been clear from the start. Could she watch from the sidelines? Could she remain unaffected while he paid the price? This angered her.

Azkadellia turned her gaze with disappointment, locked it on the headboard of her bed instead. "Is that to be my fate as well?" She questioned.

"No," her mother shook her head quickly in response, "You're alive. You were proven worthy and you've served your punishment, Az."

Yet Azkadellia's body tensed at the mention of it. Somehow she was caught holding secrets again, and it wasn't her desire, not at all. Azkadellia turned on her back, locking eyes with her mother. She hated that apologetic smile her mother would get when she was explaining something.

"I was found_ guilty,_ mother," she explained then, giving up the burden of secrets. "I refused to die like that, so I burned it down."

Her mother absorbed these words like poison, seeping carefully and breathing deep. She obviously didn't want to believe. "Azkadellia-," she began, getting interrupted by her daughter.

"No, mother. I am guilty. I feared death. I wanted life." She hadn't before, not really. Her future had been a losing battle over the control of her body – nothing worth fighting over.

Her mother clearly didn't know what to say. Tears glimmered in her eyes. "DG has done everything in her power to make sure this was enough, and you would just throw it away for guilt?" she asked and watched as Azkadellia sat up, anger seething in her.

A moment later Azkadellia'd hand connected with her mother's cheek, her eyes burning with contempt as the slap made the older woman whimper. Now they looked at one another with clear eyes, stripped down to the essentials. She didn't need to play along with this lie that they were mother and daughter in the true sense of the word.

"What about _me_, mother? I know you love her more, but – what – about - me?" she asked, pained by her mother's behavior. How everything could still revolve around DG after all these years was beyond her.

Her mother didn't respond; she tried to understand the question, the implication. "You think-," she began, struggling with words, "-that I don't love you?"

"I know you love me, but I also know that you gave up your _light_ for her. Would have you condemned the entire kingdom to ruin like that for me? Frankly, I don't think so," Azkadellia confessed, finally speaking her mind on their issues honestly.

"You always wanted to believe there was nothing but the Witch in me when I was Queen, but it was me too. I kept you alive, I tortured you. Because you made me feel like I could never be loved by anyone."

Horror was an accurate description of the Queen's face then and there. She had truly been blind to Azkadellia's emotions, to her pain. A small part of her also admitted that there was a seed of truth in there. Azkadellia was her firstborn, a wonderful, talented young woman, yet DG had always been something special. She had just known that DG would change the world like her namesake had.

The Queen pulled Azkadellia in her arms and her daughter did not resist. However, the embrace wasn't all that loving, but rather an act of desperation. It still felt uncomfortable to Azkadellia, and her mother held on, waiting to feel the same belonging she did with her other daughter.

Azkadellia realized it now; why her mother's embrace was so unwanted. There was warmth between them, but that wordless instinctive bond between mother and daughter simply wasn't there. The damage was deepened by a decade's worth of wrongdoing, hurtful actions and thoughts. At this point Azkadellia was simply unable to believe anything her mother said, be it a confession of love, or a vow of change.

"Of course I love you, my darling. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted this for us. You were always so collected, so strong. I should've been there for you more, but I thought you didn't need me," her mother spoke, her voice stained by tears.

It was all very touching, yet Azkadellia couldn't embrace these words, this regret. Her heart had been set on stone a long time ago, and after revisiting those early memories of abandonment, she understood everything a little better now.

"I forgive you," she said almost mechanically, feeling how her mother cried in relief against her.

Azkadellia remained still though, calm and quiet. She did not need her mother to love her _more_ any longer. In her heart she knew the struggle was pointless and without end. She would give her mother this reconciliation, this peace for she knew it was the right thing to do. She would never feel comfortable in this woman's arms though, and it didn't bother her anymore. She could forgive, but she could not forget, not anymore.

By the time her mother pulled away, a hopeful smile on her reserved face, Azkadellia had conjured a smile herself.

Her mother moved her hair behind her ears to bring out her face, looking genuinely moved and happy for once.

"You need to rest now. You have been under powerful magic. It has left you weak, your body addicted to its flow. It will take awhile for you to recover," she explained to her daughter, worried about her pale complexion and heated body. The Queen had faith they would get through this though; that together they would rise again and find that elusive happiness from years ago.

Azkadellia understood the wisdom in her mother's words, embraced them for now. She was too weak as things were. But knowing he was close (that he was alive), helped ease her mind. She would find him before the end, see him again, and talk to him again. And she would ask him for forgiveness as well, for not living up to his expectations, for being the coward he was always accused of being.

Her nod was slight, her eyelids wanted to push down. "Just for awhile, mother," she said, sounding drowsy already, her energy spent in her outburst.

Azkadellia fell asleep again at the feel of her mother petting her hair, humming a lullaby.

* * *

As days passed, she regained her appetite and ate everything in display greedily, obsessed with the thought of recovery. Azkadellia refrained from asking about Zero, and settled to gain her Intel more quietly. He was safe for now, locked in his cell, the date of his trial pending still. It was good, she had time.

During DG's first visits, Azkadellia was asleep without fail, and DG would simply sit by her bed, reading, singing, talking. She settled for the little things, just knowing her big sister was alright and headed towards recovery. Something about the mood was a bit strange, others noticed it too. Traces of her supercilious character had mostly vanished, leaving behind a bereft woman, someone whose eyes were towards the skies, heart and mind somewhere distant.

A change for the best, as most would say, but this concerned DG somewhat. What exactly was the woman between the Sorceress' stoic cruelty and her sister's heartwarming grace like?

The morning DG finally caught Azkadellia awake, she struggled with her questions while watching the polite yet distant woman stand in front of her. The former Sorceress stood in front of a full-body mirror, arranging her long hair on several clean braids across her head. Her dexterous fingers worked wonders with her silky hair. She had yearned for something to do, other than gawk at her younger sister, whose presence had been very much desired.

Something about Azkadellia was different now, and not just her mood. She looked real somehow, when the Sorceress had always had that ethereal air to her, power and immortality, her mind soaring at heights mortals could not conceive. This Azkadellia was very much present, a woman rather than divine instrument. If you were to prick her she would bleed.

"That creature was behind my door this morning again," Azkadellia announced dryly, rather focusing on her reflection than the actual topic. She seemed bothered by this sight, unsure of its meaning.

"Raw?" DG frowned, "Why?"

"I wouldn't know," Azkadellia replied. "He just stands there, never saying a word, never asking for audience. He just stands and looks at me with this strange look."

It made her highly uncomfortable; especially knowing this was the Viewer who had been inside her mind. The things he must've seen… Azkadellia wasn't keen on confronting him about it. It had been heard enough to have a look herself, let alone having a stranger see the same.

DG didn't say anything. She knew why Raw was there, just as Azkadellia had to know. It was just one of those topics they did not engage in. Raw was probably waiting for the right time to approach Azkadellia, to tell her what he had seen. Curiosity would've made her ask about it a hundred times already, but it was distasteful to ask for something so personal without Azkadellia's consent. No, it was better to let them discuss it over first.

"I always feared them," Azkadellia then said. "The way they can just look inside and see what's beneath the surface. And my ment- the Witch, I mean, she agreed they were dangerous."

DG didn't know what to make of that statement. The revelation that Azkadellia had been very much present during the evildoings, even acting as a more or less willing participant, still didn't sit well with her. She didn't know how to respond to these statements. The Sorceress had enslaved Raw's people, taken pleasure in torturing them. For Raw to be this sympathetic to Azkadellia was another proof of his huge heart, his incredible compassion.

DG chose to change the topic instead, hoping to find some answers to her questions.

Azkadellia had barely caught her breath, when DG suddenly spoke her mind, having held it on the tip of her tongue long enough.

"I was scared, you know?" DG said, glancing at Azkadellia sideways to remain discreet. Azkadellia didn't stop what she was doing, even if she flinched a bit at the confession though.

"No one would tell me what you had really gotten yourself into, and when it became clear without asking, it was like no one else was even fazed," DG explained recalling the experience at Azkadellia's former home.

"You were screaming so much. And I was completely helpless to stop it," she then concluded, eyes cast onto the floor, hurt pressing against her throat.

"It needed to be done, Deege," Azkadellia said firmly but kindly. Her eyes rested on her reflection, her youthful appearance so different from what it had once been.

"What was it like?" DG then asked, having wanted to know this for some while now. The screams of Azkadellia still sounded in her ears sometimes when it was peaceful.

Azkadellia paused, holding still for a moment, her hands frozen in her hair, fingers trying to attach one braid into the hairdo with the others. "I could see everything," she finally said, sounding strangely bemused, "The past, the present, the future."

DG focused, listening fully. "I wasn't a very good person back then," Azkadellia settled to say. "But I had forgotten much, the Witch had made me forget much."

She had taken strength for aloofness, obstinacy and stoicism. The aforementioned qualities had made her seem hard to outsiders, truly the strongest candidate for the job, but she had been anything but strong really. True strength lied in compassion, openness, humility, trust; all these fine qualities were exhibited in DG, the daughter who had had two loving sets of parents, the daughter who so naturally excelled at everything she put her mind to.

Emotions, in a way, were foreign to Azkadellia. The Witch's council had had her suppressing everything to the point where answers needed to be pried from her by force, where every acquiescent was humiliation. Her need to remain untouched, unreachable, had turned the love affair with Zero into something twisted. She had flaunted the possibility of reunion at his face, forcing every inclination of interest into fitting with the pattern of a strange courtship, because that was safer for her.

DG listened, but Azkadellia became silent after that. Tilting her head and sighing, the younger sister knew when she was being too nosy. "It's ok," DG said encouragingly. "You don't need to say anything more."

Azkadellia now looked at DG through the mirror, their eyes connected. For a moment they looked strikingly similar, both with slender faces and dark hair. In their eyes gleamed an understanding, an unspoken bond that had survived the horrors of the past, unlike Azkadellia's relationship with their mother.

"I just don't know what I would've done without Zero," DG said, feeling slightly embarrassed to admit it. She was too busy to be shaking her head at her helplessness to notice how this information affected Azkadellia. She was suddenly very aware of the space around her, the oppressive air, and her own alertness.

"Zero was there?" Azkadellia asked, trying to keep her voice still. For days, he had haunted her thoughts, her dreams. While she had lain weak in bed, thinking of the chance to see him again, to tell him _everything_, had he already come to her aid in this dark hour, even after she had failed him?

"You were calling for him in your sleep," DG told her, almost like she was reciting a romantic encounter. "Things were pretty grim, so I wanted him there to help. And he did. He didn't leave your side after we brought him there. He was the one who pulled you out of the Coffin when the burning began too."

What a shock; Azkadellia thought, having forgotten all about her preparations, her hair and dress, the joy at seeing her skin gain a healthier tone. DG had indeed brought Zero to her side and let him guide her through her experience. She had been so sure of his presence, and yet she had told herself it was just the Coffin's masterful manipulation. But he had really been there, speaking to her, telling her to hold on. Without him, she might've taken the doppelganger's hand and stayed inside, lost in an illusion she had so desperately wanted.

"I didn't know you two were so close," DG said, hoping Azkadellia would take her words and finally explain was what happening here. She knew her mother had wanted Azkadellia and Zero as far away from one another as possible, but DG honestly felt they were indebted to the man.

"It doesn't matter now," Azkadellia replied flatly, refusing to show her weakness for him even to DG. "He may receive a fair trial, but his crimes have only one punishment and that is death."

DG picked up on the hurt, the underlying anger. She could feel Azkadellia's emotions heighten, could sense it with her magic, just like she had when Azkadellia had been within the Coffin. And how badly she wanted to scratch the surface, to see beneath!

"What happened between you and him, Az?" she asked carefully, trying not to pry.

"More than words can convey, sister," Azkadellia answered, holding back the hurt. He was always with her, like a bad habit, a craving she could not quench. Even when she had not consciously thought of him, she had wanted to hear his footsteps behind her, to feel his unwavering support, to hear his crisp remarks, accompanied by that playful smirk.

And then it hit her. Her mother had done this on purpose, hadn't she? Her mother had tried not to mention Zero, in case Azkadellia would rush into his arms like a lovesick girl and vow eternal loyalty. How _trusting_, how insulting! But her rage was calm, contained. She expected nothing more from the woman.

"I'm surprised he came when you asked," Azkadellia said to DG now, turning to her sister, appearing more like her old self, a cunning sorceress. This was a mellow version of the role though, something played with a smirk, a sense of humor. Azkadellia did it to divert the conversation from this painful topic.

In DG's eyes Azkadellia was still a bit sickly, thin and damaged, even if the damage was not something detectable with the bare eye. And yet there was new life-force in her, a determination that had not existed before.

DG rolled her eyes theatrically. "It's pretty obvious he would do anything for you, Az," she said, half-smiling. The statement worried her a bit, yet she felt it was something Azkadellia needed to hear. Being the most hated person in the Outer Zone today, Azkadellia needed all the love and loyalty she could get. If someone still cared for her despite the actions she had done while possessed, she needed to know.

"I know," she whispered back, reciting the mantra for the public in her head before continuing, "but none of that matters now."

And yet it did. He was everywhere; she was covered in him, marked for good.

TBC


	11. Transcendence

11. Transcendence

His head was throbbing by the time he opened his eyes again. The ride back to the capital was excruciatingly long, and he was given only a quick medical examination upon their arrival. Not that he seemed to care much for the dreaded war criminal's health. Zero could tell the doctor had taken every chance at inflicting supposedly accidental pain, especially when he'd stitched a nasty cut on his face, and he did this with the assistance of a dozen or so soldiers waiting in the hallway, just in case Zero decided to start up trouble.

With some water and food the throbbing began to subside and that soft spot on his head ceased being the center of his senses. Zero didn't stir up trouble though. He wasn't in any condition to after all. His ribs felt sore from Cain's punches, there were bruises on his face and every muscle in his body was sore. For now, Zero submitted to this fate, to this punishment and ridicule. He let his captors push him around, withstood their fearful gazes, and followed their lead calmly. Like a lamb to the slaughter, he was led to his cell by a cavalcade of soldiers, their hateful stares burning into his back, and then locked inside and forgotten.

He didn't mind the state of things though. Solitude and confinement suited him just fine. He had his peace in his cell, the guards were stationed at the door outside the room and there was only one door in and out. There was no escape. But he was calmed regardless, serene even. Zero observed his cell, took in every nook and cranny, every smell and feel, before settling on his bunk bed. He slept like a child.

The guards came to check on him four times a day, always on time. He would meet them standing up, a wolfish look on him as he wordlessly watched them move to him. Once they had confirmed he was still very much present, they left, and his day continued on like before.

He mostly spent his time lying in his bed and thinking, but he did try and keep up his physique in shape as well as his injuries allowed him to. He exercised within the confinement of his cell until his arms were burning and his body cried for rest. Small tasks kept him occupied, recalling events, places and people. He would often lose himself in memories of her, now tainted because of Cain's words. He bid his time, waiting for the right moment, any window of opportunity for his escape.

He had received ointment from the doctor for his burns, and it was effective in removing pain from the equation, even if the burns were still relatively sensitive to touch. After a couple of days they began to harden, protected by new skin, becoming just another memory for all to see. He traced their surface with his fingers, pushing at them to test their resilience. He expected something else, kept waiting for it, waiting for them to make their move, and yet no one came to see him, to hurt him. His Queen would've taken that for weakness, for unnecessary sympathy. Zero simply took it as the calm before the storm.

For days the routine continued, he became immersed in it, forgot about the outside world. Exercise, food, waiting, he occupied his days anyway he could. And yet when everything was done, and he was sweating from exertion, having run out of things to distract himself, he would sit in the confines of his prison, waiting for news, for anything really. Not that they told him anything, just shot him shifty glances and told him he would be informed if anything changed.

By his count it had already been a nearly a week since the _incident_, since he'd last seen _her_. The lack of tangible news on her condition worried him, even when he'd seen to her recovery and made sure she was alright. Perhaps she had not woken up yet? Was that normal or not? Should he be worried?

More and more Zero found himself thinking if it had been a game to her. The seduction, followed by rejection, then corruption, and faithful servitude had all occurred in a pace orchestrated by her. Whenever he had gotten close, it had been because she had willed it. And the second time he had tasted her kiss, sunk into her graces with the enthusiasm of a boy, it had been a ploy to trick him into doing what she could not. Was this also a trick? Was Azkadellia plotting against these simpletons, tricking them into believing in her redemption and offering Zero as the necessary sacrifice in her stead?

He didn't want to believe he had heeded her call only to be fooled again. He wanted to believe he saw beyond her walls and knew what she was like beneath it all. Then again, none of the recent events made sense. He had been discarded as unimportant, just like all the others she had executed and abandoned for their failure, when in the past she had always had clemency for him, mercy that was given to no one else in her company. Knowing about the abandonment truly hurt him, but there was no knowing what she wanted of him, if anything, until he could ask her himself.

The future remained uncertain. Zero could no longer place his trust in her completely. He needed to remain awake, to acknowledge her strong survival-instinct (it mirrored his so beautifully) and capacity for coldness. Otherwise he would only set himself up for disappointment.

He did savor half-hearted dreams though; dreams of running away with her, living in exile. In the dark there would be no shadow for her to cast and confide his existence within. Her rule was at an end; he knew as much. Would she try and reclaim these lands, or go away with him, live a simpler life?

Alas, he could not dare to hope before he could see her face, learn her loyalty, her intentions. This Azkadellia they all wished to save, she was not his Sorceress, not the woman he had loved for nearly a decade now. Not the woman who had shown him he was worth something. That woman, he found nourishment in the very sight of her, was captivated by her voice, by these small gestures unseen by everyone else.

Zero had no delusions of his obsession. It was love: a pained, struggling love. It might've not been ideal in the eyes of the world, but it was his, something he had never given to anyone else. How far would he go for her? – As far as it took.

Then in the middle of his daydreaming he received a visitor.

At first Zero didn't sense anything strange, but then at the sound of her breath he turned with haste, eyes searching for the source of the noise. At first glance he was enamored, fooled into thinking it was finally _her_, but in just a few seconds he could tell her younger sister apart. DG stepped into the light, looking confident in her skin, a stark contrast to what she'd been like in that tower. No wonder he had mistaken her for Azkadellia for a fleeting moment, he thought, sitting up on his bunk bed.

"What gives me the pleasure?" he inquired with little interest in her.

DG didn't reply with snarl, although she wanted to. She knew Zero fed on fear and hurt and that the best course of action was simply rising above it. It was probably the reason Azkadellia had gained his respect.

"She's awake," she said softly, tilting her head as she tried to decipher Zero's cryptic expression. "Still a little shaken, but she's good overall," she then explained, realizing the man in front of him would not share his feelings. It didn't matter.

"Also," she added as he seemed to lose interest in her altogether after a small pause, "I wanted to thank you for what you did."

Zero scanned her from head to toe. She wore a frilly dress, something utterly ridiculous but quite fitting for her juvenile, mischievous nature. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, and she had buried her hands in the pockets of a coat she wore. Her eyes were bright, full of light. DG was truly Azkadellia's sister, even if the difference between them was like night and day.

As Zero still didn't comment DG continued with her thoughts, trying her hardest not to insult the dangerous man on the other side of the bars. "What you did for her was real, you know? It was more than I expected, or even wanted."

Now Zero's eyes gained a dangerous gleam and he leaned over his knees, bringing his face closer. "What **do** you want, Princess?" He added the title just to annoy her, just to twist the knife.

DG shrugged off his comment easily for her intentions were genuinely pure. "I want her to be happy."

This surprised Zero. He had always seen her as the beginning of the end, a harbinger of death. Everything had fallen apart once she had arrived; Cain had been released, Azkadellia had sunk deeper into her obsession with godhood, and the rebels had gained new wind beneath their wings. He could not imagine why this girl would want anything good for his Sorceress, despite their fragile bond through blood.

"She destroyed your home, imprisoned your mother and killed you. Why would you want her happiness?" he asked, deeming her intentions senseless. He could not grasp why Azkadellia's family even wanted anything to do with her.

DG frowned at this. "You don't know?" she asked with surprise.

Zero didn't bother to answer as he could not understand her implication. "Please leave," he snorted, already fed up with her.

Instead DG took a step forward, evaluating if he was being honest or not. She concluded he didn't know about the possession, at least not all of it. So she decided to tell him.

"I did something terrible when we were kids, and Azkadellia has suffered because of it. It is my fault she became what she was," she explained, wondering whether he needed more details.

Zero showed no signs of even listening, although he had registered her words. DG continued her story though, feeling it was necessary to say these things.

"I freed an ancient witch from her tomb. Azkadellia tried to protect me, but when I ran, the witch possessed her. She governed Azkadellia's body for years, damaging everything that was dear to her. It wasn't until the eclipse that Az found the power to fight her, to expel her from her body."

She waited for his reaction, for that epiphany that everything he'd known about Azkadellia was a lie, the fall of his smug knowing, a genuine reaction. But instead Zero didn't seem very phased by her revelation.

"Is that what she told you?" he asked with a smirk, disbelief all over his face. There was also admiration, some kind of approval of her actions.

"She truly is good at manipulating others," he then concluded, brushing off her story as fallacy. It angered DG.

"It's not a lie," she claimed. "I remember it now. I was there when Az became herself again."

Zero didn't listen though. He had chosen such an outrageous lie could not be real. It was a survival mechanism, something that allowed him to cope. For if the woman he loved was just an illusion, what did he have left?

DG could see Zero had shut her off, deciding to believe his own eyes and ears instead. She could not fathom why, so she continued to try and reach him, to tell him that her sister wasn't evil, just misguided.

"Why do you think the worst of her?" DG asked, closing her hand around the bars that separated them.

Zero gazed at her, eyes gleaming in the shadow. This young girl had no idea, did she? No idea of what Azkadellia truly was.

"Why do you think the best?" he countered her question, his rough voice sounding oddly kind.

DG blinked, unable to say for sure. They were two very different people who cared about Azkadellia for very different reasons. In truth she had hoped to thank him and have her kindness accepted. She could see now that with Zero things were never that simple. He didn't let people close, didn't accept thanks and admiration for his actions. He knew his worth all the same without her telling him. In her view, his life had to be sad. She didn't think Azkadellia had ever thanked him for his loyalty and somehow she could see her taking him for granted for all these years.

"The Azkadellia I knew was loving and beautiful," DG said, amused at how cheesy her own words sounded. They were true though.

Zero stood up now, those piercing eyes set on her. "She's still beautiful," he told her crudely. They were the words of a man in love, spoken with deep ardor and respect. "But there is nothing loving about her," he finished.

DG stepped back as he closed in on the bars, his hands closing around them, his face downright intimidating. She felt vulnerable again, fear flashed in her mind, showed her just what he was capable of. She realized then how futile it was to debate with him. By all accounts, Zero probably had never known Azkadellia in the first place, no matter how she called to him in her hour of need. The person he loved, it had to be the Witch.

She heeded his silent warning and fled without goodbye, breathing easier once she was outside his cell again. DG then hurried away, eager to be free from his hold. Her duties required her attention and he was a doomed man. It was better not to offer him solace or try and understand him; his future was not hers to decide and she could not see his sins easily forgiven.

Zero watched her flee with a taste of satisfaction. She was too fragile for his taste, too easily bent and broken. Azkadellia would've faced his cruelty, shown him there were worse things around. She would've pried the answers from him, leaving him hungry for more.

He did stand still for awhile though, as if waiting for her to walk through these doors, commanding as always, and tell him it was all a lie, a play on these fools. But Azkadellia did not arrive, even as he had gained knowledge of her recovery, and in the end Zero sunk back into his bed.

DG's words were yet more of the same slow acting poison Cain had given him before, and it melted the walls he'd built around Azkadellia's memory, leaving it vulnerable for attack.

* * *

Azkadellia brushed her hair absent-mindedly, still frightened by the flawless reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were smoldering, decisive. She had tamed her unruly hair, made it into a dark fountain that landed on her shoulders, breasts and backside softly. She examined her chest, the missing tattoos that had once marked her as a slave. Her hand touched the precious skin there and she shivered in response to her own touch.

No one else had come to see her yet; her mother had insisted on resting until her strength had fully returned. But an anxious heart detested rest, detested rules. She wanted to see him, to free him. She had not been the Sorceress of his dreams or her own word. Knowing that Zero had come to her regardless was unfathomable. Azkadellia didn't know what she had done to truly deserve such loyalty. It was perplexing.

A presence entered her room uninvited and unwanted, but she didn't voice her discontent. Azkadellia simply stared at herself in the mirror, finding neither the scared girl nor fearless Sorceress in the reflection.

"Come on in, Wyatt Cain," she finally spoke to him, sounding mildly irritated.

Steps approached her; a reflection appeared into her mirror, scarred and sour. Azkadellia realized she was smiling at the sight, convinced it was all Zero's handiwork. Who else dared to harm the golden hero?

Cain was suddenly taken aback by her attractiveness. He hadn't truly noticed before, but Azkadellia's natural beauty was somewhat bemusing. Her face had strong timeless features, almost sculpted and handsome. But it was the lack of contempt that made her face beautiful to him now. A trace of melancholy was present, a feeling he knew all too well. He understood perfectly why Zero was so captivated by her.

He had a scar on his face, cut by his own weapon in Zero's hands. The scar ran across his nose, fading towards each cheek. According to the doctor it was not permanent and would heal in time, but for now it was a dangerous reminder of what Zero was capable of and why he needed to be locked away. Honestly he didn't notice it much himself anymore. He did see her focus on it though, her intent stare quite chilling despite her childlike curiosity. It was whiffed away in a second as she turned around, mask firmly on her face, a closed maturity in place of her previous adolescent openness. She knew he was the enemy.

"What do you want?" she asked with a more frank tone this time, having not received an answer to her previous question. Azkadellia rose from her chair, impressive in her creamy dress. Her expression gave off no warmth though, just vague interest.

Cain knew he should've treated her with more respect or at least less defiance, yet he could not see this woman as a victim even now. He recalled her screams of pain within the Coffin, and how deeply her wellbeing had affected Zero. These were troubling memories, but underneath them lurked the knowledge that it had been on her orders that Zero had targeted him and his family simply for opposing her.

"I beg your pardon for my intrusion," he apologized, applying some of his natural charm. She did not care for it, but he tried anyway.

"You're not a man of cunning words Wyatt Cain. Please refrain from such useless talk," she responded, a hint of contempt shining through. It was then that she became ugly again in his eyes, his fears proven correct; she was still vain and self-sufficient, proof of how her experience had failed to change her at all.

"And you're not a fair maiden, Princess Azkadellia," he said in return, returning the taunt.

They stared each other down; Cain standing untouched, dressed in his long coat and usual attire, and Azkadellia's usually frightening appearance softened by her loose hair and royal dress. Neither was willing to give the other space. A ghost loomed about, a fact they both acknowledged silently, and he was the reason they could not behave like civilized people around one another.

"State your business, Cain. I will not ask again," Azkadellia warned him, holding onto her pride in the face of this unwanted invasion of privacy. She would not be treated like a prisoner, not when her own mother had absolved her.

He relented, seeing little use in riling her up. "It's about Zero," he simply stated, watching her reaction carefully. She surprised him by showing no visible reaction to her former lover's name.

"What about him?" Azkadellia asked, feigning ignorance.

"He saved your life," Cain said, his expression turning kind. He found the selflessness he had witnessed in Zero quite romantic even if he did not truly understand it.

"Yes, I have heard," she responded, still frozen before him.

"Why?"

His question was abrupt, clearly spoken in haste. He waited for her answer patiently though, conflicting thoughts made visible on his face.

Azkadellia didn't really owe him an answer, but she sensed he desperately craved for one, so why not?

"Without me he is obsolete. There is no purpose in his life without me," she spoke, slipping into a different time and place, somewhere where Zero had confirmed as much to her.

"It would've been kinder if you had left him within the iron suit," she then stated, seeing his guilt and deducing his motive from it. DG had given her the facts eventually, seeing no harm in letting Azkadellia know just what had occurred.

Something flickered in Cain's surreal blue eyes, but Azkadellia didn't quite understand what. She watched the disquiet that surfaced beneath his charm now that she was actually responsive to his presence. She must've still been precarious in his eyes, a potential threat in need of containment.

"Why is that?" Cain asked, curious about her deductions. He hadn't wanted Azkadellia walking around freely just yet, but the Queen had insisted that Azkadellia being alive was proof of her clean slate.

"You wanted him to know I had abandoned him. You wanted to hurt him," she concluded with a whisper.

Then a snort and an enlightened look emerged on her face. "You're no better than us," she said to him, merely stating the fact, yet deriving no gleeful pleasure from it.

Cain took offense; he marched to her, grabbing her by her elbow forcibly, staring her down with hateful eyes. "He will pay for what he did to me and countless others under your command," he told her.

She did not push him away or scold him for his words. Azkadellia frowned, realizing now that it was this life and these people that drove her mad. If she ever wanted to be happy again, she would have to shed them and her very identity in order to be reborn. Now they were chained by cause and effect, sins that bred injustice, a yearning for revenge. This hateful cycle would never end.

He watched her revert, her hateful self vanish in an instant. Then that beautiful woman was in her place again, looking at him with unease that burned him with shame.

"Look to me for blame, Cain," she told him, still under his hurtful hold. "I gave the order to hurt you, to hurt your family. Had I told him to stop, he would've. Instead I only fed the flame, watched it grow."

There was something about her as she confessed this to him. It wasn't a boastful confession from an evil woman, but a lament from a broken person, one who wished things had gone differently. Had the bloodstained jewels on her crown finally lost their luster?

"I knew he needed revenge against you. To me it was the only thing holding him back, this threshold waiting to be crossed, end to his morals. So I pushed him over it. Why not blame me as well?"

She felt his grip tighten, become increasingly tough and painful. He absorbed every word from her, his eyes dimmed and the line of his mouth became thin and uncompromising. Revenge was layered, and he was reaching the bottom, the coldest hardest place in existence. How could she talk about it like it was a strategy?

"Nothing I do will bring those lives back," she said and withdrew from his reach, retreating by the windows that graced them with sunlight. As she looked outside, yearning for freedom within these walls, Cain reflected on his earlier behavior.

He had wanted to hurt her, to crush her, and yet he couldn't. The sound of her quavering voice as she took responsibility from Zero, told him that it had been her intent equally… he had not heard such a voice ever before. Hadn't her intent been to protect Zero with this confession, this bold reveal?

"Your revenge is not my burden," Azkadellia pointed out calmly. "Please leave."

He was puzzled by the duality he had evidenced in her, these two characters under her skin, fighting for dominance, frailty and toughness, bloodlust and disenchantment. It was a side of her he had never seen, but it placed a seed of suspicion in, qualm about whether DG was right after all. Suddenly he was inflamed by shame; shame for having toyed with the thought of using her against Zero. Her earlier words rang true to him now, and the act was disgusting even when it was done to someone like Zero. The realization was sobering, his vengeful mood vanished.

Cain didn't want to disturb her anymore, so he silently excused himself, bowing before he realized he had actually done it. Something about her commanded respect now, even he couldn't fight it with his previously potent disgust. He fled the scene, shrouded in sudden uncertainty, his nagging trepidation visible if only she would look his way; alas, she did not. Azkadellia's mind was already elsewhere.

She heard him close the door and with that sound she released the strained breath she had held within. Her lips trembled still with knowledge that she was the reason their feud had escalated. She had pushed Zero to retaliate, to ruin this man. Even as his dislike for her was apparent, she knew he did not blame her enough for the fate of his family and placed the blame entirely on Zero's shoulders instead.

Yet this encounter had been sobering for her; it had showed how close to the ledge she still stood, how easy it would be to sink into old habits, to put the mask back on for good. It was not her desire to live that life anymore, when all enjoyment came from hurting others, from exerting the power she had taken forcibly on the weak.

Azkadellia reached out into the depths of her power, sensing the cursed Darkness still present there, waiting, biding its time. The temptation to use it would be great, but she did not trust its seductive nature anymore. She had trust in herself for a change; trust that she could do this one last thing with her power before closing the door on it for good. She would never do right by everyone she had wronged, but she would do right by Zero. Soon, when the night would give her unsanctioned act cover, she would release him.

Her morals cried against the act, but her heart wanted this. She was not so naïve to believe justice could be blind to a man like Zero.

TBC


	12. Deliverance

12. Deliverance

At first there was nothing special about this starless night; moonlight cast wicked shadows against the walls of his prison, nocturnal creatures loomed about, filling the night with their symphony of noise, unique sounds he had never stopped to listen to before. Zero could not sleep though; he was still burdened by the words of the princess he had met earlier.

This story about witches and possession, Zero's sense spoke against it, but his memory argued, bringing details to his attention, such as her congress with unseen allies spoken in hushed tones. He remembered other things that had made little sense in the past, like sudden changes in her appearance and mood, conversations that they had several times without her finding it peculiar at least. The more he thought about it, the more sense this revelation began to make.

There had always been something unseen by him, an inconstancy her in her behavior, that look as if she was listening intently even when no one was speaking, a duality of fragility and dispassionate carelessness. So he laid awake, thinking about it, twisting and turning when the pieces he had in his hands still refused to form a coherent picture.

Even though she entered the room almost without sound, he felt a change in the air because of her presence, sensing her somehow. Zero turned his head to the entrance, saw her push inside through the door carefully, moving with that familiar, mesmerizing grace. He stopped to admire her; how she was embraced by the moonlight that made the fabric of her dress shine pleasingly. She looked unlike she had ever looked before, her open hair and lack of accessories made her seem more innocent, almost pure. He knew her as a Queen, always shrouded in marvelous fabrics, something threatening and sexual, but this was just a woman behind the curtain.

Azkadellia approached, reaching the bars of his cell, her fingers feeling their cold surface. Her eyes couldn't yet make him out from the dark, but she was getting used to the twilight. Then the shadows moved, rattled by her unexpected arrival, and she lifted her chin, barely containing her anticipation when he finally appeared into view.

He was not as well cleaned as she was. Zero's hair hung a little too long, his face had grown stubble, and there were burns and scars all over him. She recognized his clothes, a black sleeveless shirt and trousers, and realized he must've been captured while still wearing his uniform. He gave her a moment to take it in, to examine his condition, before he greeted her warmly.

"Sorceress," he said, forgetting about any qualms he might've had until now. She was here and it was all that mattered. Azkadellia lived and her presence alone was bemusing.

"Please don't call me that," she requested, showing unusual vulnerability.

"Why not?" he questioned, knowing now why DG was so intent in saving her sister. "Isn't that what you are?"

There was something intrusive about the way he spoke, a trace of antagonism of some sort. She didn't quite understand it.

His eyes appreciated the sight of her though, ravishing her more visibly than he would've dared in the past. Arrogance and lust danced inside him and he showed her everything.

"That part of my life no longer holds any meaning," she clarified, showing signs of unease over the subject. Regret was visible, shame as well. He didn't appreciate the way she downplayed their history, no matter how politically incorrect it may have been in their current situation.

"Am I not your dog anymore then? Should I be _Adrian_ as well?" he asked his voice hoarse and low. Lust was replaced with cheekiness, opposition towards her new stance.

"I did wrong by you-," she started, but was cut off by his vicious voice, "Wrong? You made me set the world on fire and we both enjoyed watching it burn."

Oh, she recalled that, she recalled every glorious victory, every butchered peace treaty and every heated debate. She recalled marveling at the fruit of their handiwork, enthralled by it. Lying didn't help when he knew everything. Zero was the only one she could not fool.

"We indulged a twisted dream," she admitted begrudgingly, her face void from any emotion.

"It was _your_ dream," he told her, moving closer, until they were both at the bars, staring at one another. She was smaller than he was without her high heels, and her apparent sadness made her feel so much younger as well. Cruelty had always aged her; her stoic face had made her appear jaded.

She didn't avert her eyes from his, but looked right in. "Yes, it was."

He felt his very being quiver with lust for her again, even when she was stripped of her power over him, appearing so young and delicate. It reminded him of that night all those years ago with her barely an adult, burying her face in his chest as he bit her shoulder and entered her, trying to diminish one pain by creating another. Wasn't it this the Azkadellia he had wanted to protect instead of the timeless Sorceress all along?

"I failed you," she whispered to him, placing her hand over his on the nearest bar. A flush of warmth spread from her fingers, her lovely skin feeling so precious against him.

"I know," he simply answered, realizing now that even she was only a woman. Mistakes, weaknesses, secrets, she had all of them, even if they were better hidden than with most people.

"Why?" he asked, leaning in just enough to press his forehead against the bars, to inhale her scent and use it to drown the memory of her burned flesh from his subconscious. Her scent was much more vigorous now; it invited hunger with sweat and musk.

His eyes traced the shape of her breasts, her flat stomach, those smooth hands, her full lips. The desire that had existed in him since their first meeting had only grown stronger and stronger with time. Other women hadn't diminished it, hadn't compared against her.

Azkadellia tried to voice her thoughts, to give form to the truths she had learned, but it was not that simple. A lot of fault still lied in her, she couldn't just excuse herself. She tried though, she tried.

"I had mentor," she said, turning away from his frightening eyes. She could feel their stare across her body like the caress she had longed for. "She existed in my body, guiding me to greatness."

He wanted to tell her he had heard the story of her possession, to compliment her on crafting such a masterful lie, yet her tone, her body language, everything, told him she was being sincere. And so he listened instead, reigning in his yearning, knowing he needed to hear this.

"And when I strayed from the path she had set me on, she would push through, muddle my memories and _put things back on track_." Her tone was disillusioned as she tried to convey to him the horror of not being in control of your own body, your own mind.

"She convinced me that no one could ever love me. If someone got close, she would fix it. She would put me into sleep and creep into my skin to do the unspeakable."

A tear glimmered in her eye; he caught this immediately and simply stared at it. It was all _too convenient_, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

"I did not remember, and I did not care – Not until she took over for good. I was lost until DG helped me back out. We defeated the Witch together, cast her to oblivion. But I did not remember her abuse until I saw it within the Coffin."

Her tear fell down her cheek, dropping from her jaw and sinking into the front of her dress. She would not look at him through-out the confession, held back by fear. It was the same fear that had led her to ignoring him once she was free. Who was she without the Witch? Would he still care for her this way when she was nothing but a flawed woman?

"I did wrong by you," she repeated, glancing at him discreetly now.

His taunts were gone, his cruelty melted in the face of her honesty. Zero's face was caring, pensive. At the same time a storm brewed inside him, born from the frustration of living this charade with her, never seeing beyond skin deep, not even when she herself had put his hands on her neck and asked him to squeeze the life from her. How could he have been so blind to mistake the indifferent creature bent on hurting him for her?

"Why are you here?" he asked her, sounding almost appalled. She felt his hand retreat from the bars, away from her touch. The rejection stung, paralyzing her briefly with pain.

"I came to honor my promise," she responded.

Zero glanced at the bars nonchalantly, rolling his eyes a bit. He signaled her to do it, to set him free, and prove her word still meant something. Knowing he might not return her affection anymore, Azkadellia grabbed the bars again, squeezing them within her hands. Then the iron bars were no more and her hands clasped into fists instead, leaving nothing but iron powder on the floor where the bars had once stood.

Realizing she had released him, Zero took a step over the former obstacle. He stopped at her side, a free man inhaling freedom after imprisonment like it was the sweetest thing. Yet he did not move forward.

She felt his hand land on her waist and another close around her wrist as he pushed against the wall, pressing her tightly between it and his body. Azkadellia tensed instinctively under his stare, feeling him against her, enjoying the force he used. He twisted her wrist a bit, lifting it above her head and keeping it there, while his other hand slid down her pelvis slowly. Moments later he had already captured her lips with his, forgetting all about restraining her hand with his and moving it to her breast instead. He kissed her deep, draining her with such consuming contact, such potent passion. Azkadellia sunk into his kisses though, a prisoner of her own forbidden desires, this longing for him.

His breath was hot on her lips when their mouths parted for him to catch his breath, but he continued kissing her almost immediately, grinding his hips against hers and moving his other hand over her ass. She responded to the kiss instinctively, letting her emotions run wild for once without fear. She had longed for this, for his embrace, for his attention. It felt incredible, rekindled her memories of the last time she had enjoyed his closeness.

His lips swayed from hers, moving down her neck. He varied between kisses and bites and licks, knowing just how she enjoyed a little pain with her pleasure, just as he did. His hand cupped her ass, eliciting moans from her lips, sending her eyes into fluttering ecstasy. But his hand on her breast was too strong, too violent. It radiated discomfort across her body, forcing her to plead him to stop.

"Zero," she whispered, fearing she might alert the guards. "Not so hard," she gasped, but when he did not react, she moved her hands on his chest, pushing at him, disrupting his fervent actions.

Azkadellia expected irritation, but found a content look in its place as he stepped back, focused on evening his anxious breathing. She had nearly driven him under, made him lose himself in desire, again, with such little effort. He had half a mind to lay her down then and then, just to get it out of his system, fortunately his reason prevailed.

"_There_ you are," he said with a victorious smirk, recognizing her willpower, her desire for dominance. The woman he knew didn't let him do as he wanted, but followed her own desires. With her standing before him like this, something had been missing, that spark of extraordinary willpower he enjoyed looking at.

Azkadellia remained glued to the wall though, unwilling to move while he looked at her with such familiarity. She could no longer restrain him, not after revealing her current stance. He wasn't hers to command anymore.

"Freedom is yours," she said, feeling disappointed and cruel suddenly. He was not a hero, not a knight that could rescue her. Theirs was an entirely different story.

"You must leave while you still can," she continued, hardening herself.

Zero reacted with amusement. "And what will you do? Stay here to appease the bloodlust of those you've wronged?" he mocked her, realizing how desperate she was to be deemed worth something. What had she seen inside the Coffin really? Why had it burned down?

"I don't have a choice," Azkadellia clarified defensively, recognizing her role as the sacrifice in this play all too well. She didn't expect him to understand or want the same, but it was what she had to do herself. "We all must face the consequences of our actions sooner or later."

"That's truly noble," he contemplated, yet ended up shaking his head and rejecting her words a moment later. "But you're not noble."

Anger flared in her, she moved her back from the wall and stepped in front of him, standing tall and proud. "I'll fix what I ruined, rebuild what I burned. I deserve nothing else."

Her eyes were hard as she said those words, knowing them to be true in her heart. She believed it was the only way to go on, to make repentance for past mistakes.

Zero's hand moved to her cheek, caressing it tenderly, even as his posture and expression remained distant.

"What we deserve and what we want are two different things," he told her, illustrating quite clearly with his hand that maddening need for her which existed inside him.

"I don't deserve freedom, but it is what I want," he continued, searching for her eyes with his, fingers pushing into her hair instead as he pulled her face in for another kiss. Yet she retreated almost too soon, pulling away from him, unwilling to fall into the trap of intimacy again. He did not let her move too far from him though; Zero grabbed her wrist into his hold, keeping her within his reach.

"And I don't deserve you, but I do very much want you," Zero then confessed darkly, alluding to the fact that he owed his life as penance for his crimes, but chose to give it to her instead.

Azkadellia was caught between his silent plead, a selfish desire, and the action she knew he had to take, what was right by everyone else. He could've easily run, leaving her behind, and gone into the world like evil she had willingly unleashed. Instead he tempted her with the remnants of her domain.

"I no longer want to rule," Azkadellia told him, tired of the weight of the crown. It could not buy her love.

"Who said anything about ruling, Sorceress?" he teased her, watched her chest heave with seething annoyance at his persistence to call her by her former title.

"My name is Azkadellia," she told him tensely, turning her head to look up at him. A second later she realized she didn't really want him to say her name, a revelation that occurred too late.

"Azkadellia," he called her, speaking unlike ever before. He sounded so revering, so intoxicated. That gleam in his eyes was deeper than normal delirium, deeper than his bloodlust. It both frightened and excited her.

"Who – said – anything – about ruling, _Azkadellia_?" He asked, speaking torturously slow on purpose, to make the question sink, to have her understand what he truly meant. She felt his vice-like grip on her wrist toughen.

"Why?" she asked, truly oblivious to his answer. "What is there about me that draws your gaze anymore? Can't you see I'm not that cruel creature?"

"Oh, I can see you've _changed_," he said it like a compliment, predatory eyes lost in her graces.

Without make up, without fashion, without her heels, without her corset, he should've found her ordinary in comparison, but really, she was almost more enthralling to look at. And her ignorance towards own her grace was as charming as ever.

"But this,-" he touched her hair, sliding his hand playfully through it and bringing his hand to her chin, "-was all there before, beneath the iron maiden."

"I'm still saying it's a waste to live your life according to what you or anyone else deserves," he told her, finally letting go of her aching wrist in order to offer her escape if that is what she truly desired.

"And your solution is slinking away into the night, diminishing into a hateful memory, a scare tale for the generations to come? You want me to be remembered as a mad tyrant?" She frowned, speaking with a dark tainted voice now, expressing her fears clearer.

Zero's look was full of clarity, unclouded by romanticism or sentiment. "So which is more important to you?" he prompted her with a query. "Righting the wrongs done to the faceless mass you can never begin to appease, or righting the wrongs _this mentor_ did to _you_?"

He meant them obviously, searched for the answer he wanted from her, delving furiously. Azkadellia realized it now; that he knew why she had put his hands on her neck, why she had nearly killed him after their first night together. In his own strange way, he was asking her to tell him if she still wanted him, if she would leave with him.

The dilemma was enormous and she hadn't really expected it. Azkadellia had thought all she could do was fix past mistakes, to pledge her own future in this task. She hadn't truly considered happiness, taking what she wanted, to be an option. If she was reformed at all, the answer should've been simple; she should've found it in her heart easily. But the past nagged at her, crumbled her defenses, beckoning her to grasp what she had wanted for so long now that it was truly a possibility.

He felt her recoil, lower her eyes from his, slip away. Worry clasped his insides at that moment; his playfulness vanished, replaced by uncertainty.

It was not in the cards for her though, was it, she realized. It was all about buying love – this need for redemption – to fit into her mother's arms again. Her heart was not in it. It was something she knew she had to do, but dreaded with every fiber of her being. What she truly wanted had been on his lips long before she had realized it herself. Azkadellia had let despair control her destiny, while seeking to control it herself. If she really wanted to make amends, wouldn't she have agreed to her mother's plans instead of embracing the Coffin?

_Ques sera sera_, as her father had often said, _it is fated._

"Do you remember?" she asked him, gaining his undivided attention so easily. "When I asked you if you were afraid of me?"

"Yes," he responded without hesitation, that moment carved deep into his being.

"It was not me who turned you down," she then followed her question with a heartfelt confession, tears burning in her eyes, but refusing to emerge.

"I know."

Of course now it was plain to see. The different was as clear as day.

Azkadellia continued her concession, "She told me it was just _the evil that men do_ when I could not find you by my side in the morning. That you simply did not care."

Strangely, hearing her say it gave the truth more credit than just silently accepting it. "She lied," he commented, telling her between the lines that it had, in fact, been quite the opposite.

Sobered from her confusion by the sight of him looking at her curiously, his feelings clearly on display, Azkadellia began to feel lighter and lighter. That dreadful weight from her heart vanished. One by one the chains of guilt, anger, envy and love that had bound her to her false destiny gave out and broke down.

"I do want you," she told him. "You always made sense of this mad world to me," Azkadellia continued, surrendering to the smile that wanted to emerge. It was nothing like her smiles before: just elated, exultant.

"I'm yours," he responded without hesitation, speaking from the heart. He took her hand into his, gently tugging at it to bring her closer. She abided by his mute invitation, tying her arms around him once close. She could see a hopeful future for a change, for even if it was spent disgraced and in exile, it would be spent by his side.

"We can run as far as the Zone stretches," he assured her, already lulling her into a feeling of safety.

Zero caressed her sides, slid his hands across her bare arms. She no longer saw hostility in his stare, a mad thirst for violence and destruction. Whatever it had been before, she had been the one to give it form, to allow it to surface. It was buried now, sleeping, and in its stead lay a trace of the man she had been pushing beneath the surface.

Azkadellia stopped his vows, his quiet assurances, by kissing him again, placing her hands around his face, and truly giving herself into the kiss. He didn't object, for words were meaningless promises when he could convey the same message by touch.

In the dark they could revel in closeness for awhile, pretend freedom was already here, but only for awhile.

She knew they were still within the castle walls, surrounded by the enemy, the two most wanted criminals in the history of the O.Z. This was not the time or place of sweet reunions, of rediscovery. They needed to flee while they still could.

He noticed her hesitance and knew its cause. It was unwise to stop to enjoy her, to taste her. He just couldn't quite hold back, not when the long desired fulfillment was so close. He kissed her carefully a few more times, taking in the sweetness and expecting rejection subconsciously, and then he let her go, knowing her mind was still consumed with the now. Soon they would have all the time in the world.

"I didn't prepare-," she almost stuttered, finding her knuckles in his hold, worshipped by his lips.

"Of course you didn't," he simply told her, flashing a toothy grin.

It reminded her of the Zero in her memory, the knight with a thousand lives as they had called him. He had always smiled at the walls, when others would be punished for similar insolence in a heartbeat. She had allowed him his quirks, a little more leeway, and he had always smirked while practicing his evildoing.

Zero brushed her hair aside, confident as always. _He_ had prepared. Even during his darkest moments he had planned on taking her with him somehow.

TBC


	13. Acceptance

13. Acceptance

DG had visited her sister's quarters, finding them empty upon her search. She hadn't thought much about it at the time, certain in her instinctive realization that Azkadellia was quite shaken by her recent experience and merely needed some time to recover. It wasn't like Azkadellia hadn't prowled around the castle before, keeping to the shadows and trying to discover her place in all of this. She hadn't wondered about the late hour, or the strange stirring in her chest that prompted the finality of the moment.

Of course now she knew why Azkadellia hadn't been there.

DG listened silently as the others debated about this turn of events. Cain argued for chasing the escapees, for bringing them both to face justice, with seething passion. Ambrose wanted to avoid alerting the public, as he feared it would incite widespread panic and invite the presence of those still loyal to Azkadellia. At worst it could all lead to civil war according to him, which she in turn simply did not believe was Azkadellia's intention – not anymore.

DG didn't like it when a subject like this made her friends into forces that clashed violently and the lines of right and wrong were blurred and hard to see. Her own distinct palpation showed how deeply the schism affected her, making her wonder if the marring of their friendship had indeed been the intention of Zero. She could not imagine Azkadellia being willing to cast aside the work she had done here to live in uncertainty with him, as the image of her as a hopeless romantic easily driven into leaving with him did not fit, so in her mind it had to be Zero. DG had clear memory of his behavior from before, including the way he had held onto Azkadellia, accepting her for what she was, even if the person in question was mad and tarnished.

She held these observations close to her heart though, standing by her mother, her trembling hand resting over her chest, her wild heartbeat pulsating between them. She was visibly troubled, her body language somewhat aversive and her eyes withholding traces of dejection, despite her normally positive outlook. Had it all been in vain? Had she gone to hell and back for a sister that did not care? DG had no answers, only an empty room that had once housed a loving sister from her fainted memory.

The Queen was strangely distant as well, caught up in her private chagrin, her emotions reduced to a messy bundle of sorrow and remorse. She listened to each suggestion, eyes cast to the distance, appearing strangely calm in the face of this disaster. If she quietly condemned her traitorous daughter for this choice, at least she did not outright say it. Her composure fit with her position and age, but was in stark contrast to her role as a betrayed mother; this raised unspeakable concern in DG, thoughts she did not wish to delve into it any deeper.

Raw was also present, guarded and supporting a visible frown like he had been for days now. DG suspected he had some insight he had not shared, a truth he sheltered from all, after having gained view within Azkadellia's pained soul during her healing. Or at least that is what she hoped. It was so tiring to fight the tide alone, being the only one left to defend her sister now that she had fled with Zero. The small victories gained were now lost, and Azkadellia's behavior had become more and more inexcusable. Even DG lacked the desire to defend her blindly anymore. She believed Raw might've been the only one in this room who could say what truly lied beneath the surface of Azkadellia's calculating expression with any certainty.

Hope prevailed even in the face of doom nevertheless. DG recalled announcing to Zero that all she wanted was Az's happiness and that still stood; she was quite positive this unprecedented action was just Azkadellia's way of obtaining said happiness, not another call to arms to retake the kingdom. Unfurling this point to the rest, however, was increasingly difficult. All who stood here today were formerly victimized by Azkadellia either directly or indirectly. Mother wasn't any different from her friends in that regard, for she had been imprisoned and separated from her loved ones for over a decade. It was difficult to believe such actions did not create vexation at least.

Tension rose in the room with each passing moment. It was not just Azkadellia that would have to be excused this time – one could argue her freedom was earned by her passing of the Coffin's test – but Zero was an entirely different matter altogether. He knew no repentance, no mercy. His list of crimes was terribly long and filled with horrifying details. And in spite of this, Azkadellia had knowingly set him free and vanished into the night with him.

DG had wanted to ask about it, ask what it was that Azkadellia loved in him so. To her eyes Zero was terrifying and dangerous, yet Azkadellia commanded his respect. DG remembered how Zero had claimed she knew nothing about Azkadellia, and how she had told him about the possession instead, a fact he had not known. Yet he had left with her, following her to the very ends of the zone as it seemed. It was all so difficult to comprehend what drew these individuals together and bound them with such unbreakable chains.

"Please, Your Highness," Cain pleaded now, speaking directly at the Queen herself with this request, "We owe it to the people to punish them for a decade's worth of crimes."

Cain was consumed by this new development, his face marked by Zero's latest assault and his mind anxious due to Azkadellia's dual nature he had finally caught glimpse of. He stood before them alert and awake, strangely familiar to DG. His eyes carried a burning that worried her, his words an edge that hadn't been there before. DG no longer knew if Cain could rise above his need for revenge and learn to live again.

The Queen clearly considered his suggestion though. She already had half a mind to follow Cain's plead, as she saw little alternative for it. It didn't offer her any sort of solace, knowing she would have to condemn her misguided daughter as well as her uncontrollable lover. She knew better than most that Azkadellia had chosen her side and would stand by that man until the end now, leaving her with little option in the matter. She was either protecting them or hunting them down – there was no in between.

"She doesn't want the crown," DG announced, appearing calm against Cain's agitation. She needed to turn the course of this hearing while she still could and focus on the positive. No one else would stand up for Azkadellia, and her worst fear was being forced to participate in hunting her sister down like an animal.

Her insight was noted and silence landed in the room. It didn't take long for someone to question her though.

"Then why would she escape? Didn't she already have pardon for her crimes?" Cain argued, sounding impassionate at least. His true target was not the haunted woman he had seen. He wanted Zero sentenced, believing that Zero's punishment could somehow fulfill the hole in his chest left by his wife.

"She loves him," the Queen noted dryly. Her forehead was frowned, her grey hair neatly fixed in its place. Yet there was something about her that told them of great internal struggle. Everyone sensed it.

"She probably shoulders the blame for his actions as well and couldn't let him be punished if she was left unscathed," DG explained, taking a more active role. She glanced at her mother discreetly, afraid of suggesting what was already on her mind and taking root as the most suitable course of action.

"Her motivation is trivial," Ambrose stepped in to conclude. "What remains the problem is that she knowingly set an enemy of the crown at large."

"And even if they do not cause further harm, they still are accountable for all the damaged they have already caused," Cain said, throwing a marking glance at DG. "She did kill you."

"These are not easy matters for anyone," the Queen said defensively at this point, refusing to speculate the extent of the Witch's rule within Azkadellia. They had been on that road so many times now; she no longer wanted to think about it.

"We could pronounce _them both_ dead," DG offered all of the sudden, her suggestion bringing about surprise and confusion as she had known it would. She let it sink in for a moment, for them to envision this before their eyes.

"DG,-" Ambrose began, sounding truly sorry, yet she proceeded to cut him off, "Azkadellia could've died in the Coffin, her sins repaid. And Zero could've broken in the face of this news, choosing to take his own life instead."

No one dared to say anything. Her solution was simple and horribly wrong, yet when one saw the situation through her eyes – so desperate to make Azkadellia happy once again and unburdened by her past sins – the course of action became very desirable.

Cain was the one who resisted outright, baffled by the suggestion, this intent on rebuilding the kingdom on lies. It went against everything he believed in, everything he had revered in the old kingdom. How could this be DG's desire? It was such a selfish thing, sweeping this ugly mess under a carpet simply because she was related to the antagonist by blood and felt guilty for being responsible in the first place. And what he saw in the Queen's eyes was unimaginable – it was support for this madness. It didn't help that both were women he had believed to have been above such narrow-minded thinking.

"Your love for your sister is admirable, but we must face reality. Azkadellia confessed she was very much in charge. Zero deserves nothing short of misery for the rest of his life. We cannot let them go," Cain finally expressed his thoughts, void from his usual frustration. Now he just wanted them to understand.

"Azkadellia already suffering," Raw said, surprising those around him. "And Zero follow her without question."

DG smiled at him faintly, grateful for his support. "Raw saw into her soul. She doesn't want to hurt anyone."

Cain shook his head, disappointment shaking his body violently. "The Princess may be free, but Zero shouldn't be. We mock the dead, the innocent slain by his hands, if we let him go."

Ambrose had remained quiet for awhile, dark thoughts plaguing his brilliant mind at this time. They were still holding conference in secret and only a select few even knew Azkadellia and Zero were missing. DG's suggestion was still somewhat viable, even if it was questionable by all accounts. He didn't personally know what to think about it. Letting Azkadellia and Zero go would be neglectful when one considered their duties, yet Ambrose knew as well as Cain that the story could be fabricated without much effort. Should Azkadellia simply desire exile with Zero, confined to isolation for the remainder of their lives, it would be easier than tearing the world apart in search of them. It just didn't sit right by him.

"Raw?" The Queen spoke, inviting silence with her fragile tone. Raw stepped forward as requested, performing a clumsy bow for her, which she accepted with gratitude.

"You looked into Azkadellia's heart. Tell me, does my daughter still desire power? Would she plan a rebellion against us?" the Queen asked, hurting from having to voice her doubts in public.

She did not know Azkadellia at all it seemed. Azkadellia had forgiven her and then left for good, choosing to be with the man in her heart, rather than fight to clear her name. A small faith in her remained, a belief love was all Azkadellia wanted and all she would settle for, even if it was a love that could not sustain daylight.

Raw didn't remain silent for long. It was a question he had sought answers for these past days, organizing the images in his memory, examining them with interest and focus. He was certain of his answer by now.

"Azkadellia desire love. Nothing but love," he answered her, watching with ease as she relaxed visibly to this answer.

"Thank you," she said to him, her eyes catching the kind smile on her lips. She appeared relieved.

Rain tapped against the windows of their conference room, a grey sky spreading above. She no longer felt the chill Azkadellia's sudden leaving had caused, but instead there was regretful warmth within her. Beneath them the streets were flooded, ordinary people struggled with ordinary problems, and she was given belief that the destructive pyres of the Sorceress, breathing black smoke as far as the eye could see, were a thing of the past.

Her victory was bittersweet, tainted with a sensation of incompleteness, but it was there nevertheless. That creature that had held her prisoner for years and ravished the childhood of her daughters was gone. Traces might still linger, Azkadellia might be lost, but she would not be punished for being a child, for believing in a loving voice that vowed its good intentions to her. If she only knew happiness with a criminal of her own making, a relic of her bloodstained past, she would have him. Just as the Queen had once given up her light for DG, she would be blind to justice just this once for the sake of Azkadellia. Perhaps this was the only way of repaying the debt formed all those years ago when she failed to see the suffering in her own child.

"One day I will be gone and DG will rule in my stead," the Queen proceeded to explain, having kept her audience waiting under strained silence. "I wish I could leave her a legacy of justice and devotion, but I know the scars of Azkadellia's rule will not heal in my lifetime."

She paused briefly, catching her breath. Then she cast her eyes to DG. "We both failed her once. It is my desire that she may live in peace for the remainder of her days."

Cain was about to ask about Zero, even as he could read the answer on the Queen's face already. He needed verbal confirmation, a blade into his anxious heart, before the truth would sink in. The battle was lost but the fighting continued in one form or the other as it always had.

Ambrose accepted the news with serenity, his mind comforted with the inkling that in a sense Azkadellia had indeed died within the Coffin, undone by her evil. The person who had emerged had been different, her shine less violent and bright, her understanding expanded. To this new creature born from the ashes of a tortured woman, he wanted to bestow his blessing. Her second life should be less of a tragedy.

"We shall publish the news, and report it all across the Zone. A funeral shall be held and Azkadellia shall be buried in the royal crypt," her voice faltered for a moment, becoming incongruous towards the end. She swallowed her tears, drew her strength from DG's taciturn figure.

"As for Zero, we shall also announce his suicide as per DG's suggestion. A vile man as he may be, I am told he showed nothing short of bravery when Azkadellia nearly fell prey to the Coffin, so I choose to believe there may be good in him yet. My husband calls this _making a leap of faith_. I do hope this decision will not return to haunt me one day."

Silence prevailed for a moment, the Queen appearing thoughtful after she had made the grave announcement. But the trusted subjugates she had gathered in this room needed time to absorb her decision. For once her motivation was not for the greater good, but a selfish desire of protecting her kin – Understandable yes, but selfish nevertheless.

Ambrose was the first to kneel and salute her, his reverence and faithfulness in her inosculated by her decision. "I will make the necessary arrangements, my Queen," he said.

Cain was not as easily convinced, but following Ambrose he too steeped down to one knee and bowed his head. "My loyalty remains with you," he professed.

DG took her mother's hand and squeezed it encouragingly. Raw kneeled as well, finding the decision just. After all the damage he had seen within Azkadellia, he no longer carried ill will towards her.

They dispersed slowly, beginning the required preparations. Cain lingered near the Queen a bit longer though, his heart still unfulfilled. He had trouble simply carrying on with his daily duties after this crude awakening. The man who had destroyed him would never be punished, would never know what he'd done, not for real. As the others walked away, he remained still, frozen at the threshold. It was too much to walk away when the past weeks had been saturated with the culmination of their rivalry.

The Queen didn't say anything at first. She understood though, unable to imagine the pain of losing a spouse and being denied justice for it, and thus she invited his company eagerly.

Once the others were gone and the door was only slightly ajar, their gazes met across the small room. Neither said anything for awhile.

He realized he was disappointed in her. A fierce sensation of betrayal stabbed his gut, made him focus for good. Was it justified to feel this way, to feel abandoned? Wasn't such emotion once the fuel for bloodlust and rampage in Zero? Cain recalled what his former friend and colleague had told him; that it was all because he had ruined Zero's life by abandoning and betraying him, and how no one had risen to the occasion to help Zero back on his feet.

The Queen saw this struggle in him, this passenger that had hitched a ride and made a nest within his heart; its name was wrath. She knew it well, had tried to absolve many from its grasp.

"How is your son Wyatt Cain?" she asked formally, her voice heartfelt and true.

"Jeb is well. He has turned out to be a fine man," Cain replied, feeling a pang of pride whenever his son was mentioned. Considering how angry Jeb had been when they had first met, by hindsight he had given up his rage quicker than his father.

"Would he track down his mother's killer if he knew he was still alive?" the Queen asked next, referring rather to Cain himself than his son.

"He would not defy the Queen's will. Not even for justice," Cain responded. A small thorn was hid in his words, a throwback at the way she had stepped in the way of fate, as he saw it, and closed off that road.

The Queen also recognized this, the starting point of rebellion, a vacuum that could only be filled with something all-consuming and deadly.

"Remember this then. The murder of a man without identity would only be revenge, not justice," the Queen advised.

Cain turned to him then, realizing the warning in the Queen's words to his shock. Had the intent been so visible on his face? He considered this, the dark man on the road without a name, without a past. Was it Zero anymore or someone else entirely?

"This is not justice either my Queen," he responded warily, finding the word tasting ill in his mouth. Justice – What did they know of justice?

And yet that sad figure on the road remained with him, a jaded face shrouded in contempt. His companion at least had a heart still. The way Azkadellia had asked him to blame her instead of Zero, had it not been selfless?

The Queen ascended from her seat, walking up to him. "If the day comes that we find my decision to be ill-advised, I will call for you, and you may have justice for all. I will then be judged alongside with my daughter and the man you so despise."

Her offer was unexpected, but helped him realize the extent of her trust. Something inside him shattered then and there, a wicked thought born from darkness and a sleepless dream of eight years. It changed his entire demeanor, gave him reason to stand tall again.

"You truly believe in her that much?" Cain questioned, realizing the answer soon after. Of course she did. It was the burden of parenthood, the curse to love your child no matter what they did.

There was no sign of conflict in the Queen. Her demeanor remained cool, resigned, despite of Cain's inquisition. Of course she could only believe in Azkadellia, believe in the child she had raised as just, believe in her ability to reform and cast aside her tarnished ideals. She wasn't all-knowing or all-powerful, and even she made mistakes. But this was one belief she was willing to bet her life on. Underneath their difficulties, their strained relationship and sordid history, she could never condemn her daughter.

The Queen did not reply. Her conviction was clear and admirable. He felt the wrath within in shrivel before this sight.

"Let us hope that day never comes," Cain settled to say, before excusing himself.

* * *

DG didn't make it far in the long corridors of the castle until Ambrose caught up with her, motioning her silently towards her room. She could tell he wanted to talk, and she knew she needed it too, so she answered his wordless beckoning with a clear nod. Her victory did not bubble within her as a hurricane waiting to be unleashed like the achievements of her childhood; no, with Azkadellia all victories were a sensation of calmness, peace. She truly hoped this would help Azkadellia feel that same peace as well, no matter how far she would run to.

They paced in unison for awhile, eventually reaching their destination. DG entered the room decisively, Ambrose following on her tail. He made sure the door was closed behind them, knowing what they were about to discuss was not something that could leave the safety of these walls. She caught on with the urgency of the matter in the way he looked at her, a dark glare she had not seen before. She had expected this though after the small victory of Azkadellia, but his judgment made her nervous regardless.

"You've won," he said quietly, his intention unclear to her.

DG looked back at him, traces of sadness and exhaustion all over her. Even her hair hung over her shoulders lazy and straight, an uninspired sight when compared to her usual bouncy curls. "Doesn't feel like victory, Glitch," she told him honestly, feeling the tears surfacing again.

He saw her pull her lower lip inside her mouth, run her teeth across it as her eyes swelled with tears. "She didn't even say goodbye."

He wanted to hold her so badly, to comfort her, to tell her that Azkadellia simply would never the sister in her memory again. Instead he was caught where he stood, like a fly in a spider's web, an agonized frown over his aged features.

"Would you have let her go?" he asked her honestly, the line of his mouth trying to remain unmoved by the way she took in his words, and then shook her head with hurt, admitting with a wail, "No."

Ambrose gave up his rules, let his sanity slip away by this sight of her, knowing very well it was not wise to act; he walked up to her, embracing her shaking form, caressing her hair as she cried onto his chest, unable to show anyone else how deeply this affected her.

They remained like this for awhile, and he anchored her, helped her stay afloat. DG sunk into his embrace, forgot that she was a separate being altogether. His warmth comforted her, his unrelenting figure, his familiar scent that always made her feel protected. Her tears dried on her cheeks and she just stood there.

"She wasn't happy here," DG eventually told him, stirring him awake from this pleasant distraction. Her voice sounded different, accepting. "Loving someone means letting them go," she explained further, marrying into the concept.

Ambrose did not respond, the words hit too closely to his heart, his bleeding pained heart.

"All I could do was give her another chance," DG concluded and then pulled away from his comfort, turning to his face, to see his conflict.

"You are a good sister," he complimented her heartily.

"But a bad ruler, right?" she questioned, acknowledging how selfish this was.

Ambrose shook his head though. "I would rather have your weakness be love than hatred," he said, holding onto her shoulders now.

"I may not be responsible for Az, but I'm responsible for everyone else," DG clarified, stepping away. She brushed her hair off her face absentmindedly, whilst walking to the window. On the streets people were crowding the streets at first light of the dawn. "They need this to end as much as Az does."

A pang of pride hit him, a realization that it wasn't just about saving Azkadellia. And Ambrose smiled at this thought, at this realization that DG would indeed make a wonderful queen one day. She would grow and be faced with new dilemmas and new conflicts, but she would never have to do anything as hard as this had been: Her trial by flame.

"You're not worried about Zero?" he asked her, glancing at his empty hands her warmth already fleeting from them.

"He's her problem now," DG said with a hint of amusement. "I have a feeling he'll listen to her, and that she won't let him hurt anyone again."

He was still looking at his hands, at his worn skin. Azkadellia and Zero had broken him, made him something incomplete. And now his old life no longer fit, not when he had lived so long as Glitch, free from responsibility, free from restraint.

"What did you want to talk about?" DG asked now as if hit by a sudden recollection. She tilted her head and turned to him, but he just fisted his hand and shrugged, sounding truly careless, "It was nothing."

His gentle figure seemed less anxious than before, she noticed. "Are you sure?"

He smiled at her uncertainty, at that way she would look at him without understanding, head tilted and expression distant. It had been like that in her childhood as well, always that same curious look, those almost innocent bright eyes.

"You will make a wonderful queen one day," Ambrose told her, tugging away his hopes for good. He sounded breathless for a moment, almost like someone else completely.

He too had accepted the bitter bill of reality, and the way things were supposed to go. But the creases around his eye corners still marked laughter.

TBC


	14. Acquiescent

14. Acquiescent

The rain had drenched them both; it had gathered over the thick surface of her cape, bombarded his uniform, weakening the fabric with constant assaults, and eventually pierced the outer layers of their clothing. After hours of continued riding, being whipped by the unforgiving wind, wearied by the wakeful night and enduring of the chilling cold, they had finally stopped running. Zero had spotted an abandoned cottage at the woods and guided them towards it.

The horses had been thankful for the rest and vanished quickly under the small canopy by the house that provided them shelter from the rain. Zero had forced the door open after short battle and guided Azkadellia inside the musky cottage. Dust had been everywhere, tools and toys left lying around as if the inhabitants had left in a hurry originally. Azkadellia hadn't minded it; she was still somewhat sagacious and understood that they had little say in the matter. Even the uncouth décor hadn't minded her.

She had removed the pieces of clothing that were the wettest, lying them around the cottage to dry them, and settled herself near the fireplace. With a single touch from her index finger the old wood in the fireplace had combusted. She had enjoyed the heat, squeezing the water from her hair and warming her unshielded arms and shoulders as she had nothing else on but her petticoat and camisole. Her dress – albeit a horrible choice of garment for escape – was drying nearby, recovering from the dirt and rain.

Zero stood by the window at this point, peering at the woods through the windows blurred by water. He had only removed his jacket and was wearing a stolen uniform that had gotten them past the gates. His blonde hair, which was brushed to follow the shape of his head, was completely wet and it dripped cold water onto his neck. He stood rigidly, fearful of their impending pursuit. Azkadellia had the power to drown the rivers in blood and set the trees on fire, but he knew this power warped her mind, fed her hunger for it, and wanted to avoid such outcome to the bitter end.

"You should sleep," she suggested, still kneeled by the fireplace, comforted by the cracking of wood beneath the flames. "I have had enough dreams for a lifetime, but you require rest."

Zero turned to her, only seeing her backside from where he stood. His nostrils quivered a bit in response to the sight of her, his expression softened. Not many words had been exchanged during their long ride. The noise from the skies, the cruel rain and the noise of trotting feet had covered any attempts of discussing beneath them. Her voice was pleasant to listen to though; that he had not forgotten.

"We will be chased. I would rather die on my feet than on my back," he responded with amusement, watching as she turned to him with smoldering eyes, questioning his words.

"But what a pleasant death it would be," she responded, thinking something else entirely than sleep. He smiled at this, at her ability to relax him so, for even in the face of unnerving tension it was rather she who exhilarated him than their continuing escape and the threat of discovery.

He remained at his post by the window, yet he was unbothered by their approaching chasers anymore. Zero devoured her skin with his eyes, glad for the rain for prying the useless layers of clothing from her. Azkadellia acknowledged his desire, could read it from the way he looked at her, his body language telling tales of unforgettable thirst she did not object to.

Her playfulness vanished, was replaced by somber calmness. He saw her struggle with this, witnessed the way she rehearsed her lines in silence, before speaking them aloud.

"There will be rules," Azkadellia said, glancing at him expectantly.

At the tower everything had been clear and simple, but she understood it really wasn't. They could not go back to the way things had been; new ground had to be established, a new way of living.

"As there always have been," he responded with a husky voice, accepting her words.

Zero wasn't surprised by her need to control this. Rules and conditions were always there with her, always justified those sweet moments of torment when he'd been able to reach her. He knew no victory was earned without terms; no acquiescent came from unconditioned surrender, not with her. Depraved from control, as he'd recently discovered, she yearned for it wholly, and he revered her for her ability to take it.

"No killing," she named her first rule.

He had killed many in her name, men and women both deserving and undeserving of their fates. Her bloodlust had always been greater still. Zero had simply been the instrument of her will.

"Not even to save you?" he asked, teasing her, as the serious subject and the unrest it caused in her was unbecoming.

She didn't replicate his smirk though. Her expression remained dead serious.

"No mind games," Azkadellia said, clearly having given this some thought.

He inched closer to her now, curious at the sight of her very visible restraint. The mischievous streak in his character rejoiced in this opportunity to turns things around. He wanted to unnerve her, just a little bit.

"You're the one who keeps playing them," he told her softly, still reacting to her requests with jest and quips. He was starting to see the pattern here now though, to realize what this was about.

"We don't stir up trouble," Azkadellia continued in spite of his remarks, needing to name the terms, the contract that would bind them.

She understood that trouble was something they both vehemently craved for though. Recovering from the mindset that remained from _the good old days_ was a necessity. And yet they were creatures born of fire; everything in their path was consumed but themselves: Lovers, enemies, allies, innocent bystanders.

"If that's what you want," he then told her, catching her attention with his slow movement as he began to approach her. "_Anything _you want."

Azkadellia shuddered at the sound of his promise, how he didn't even hesitate to speak it. "It's different this time," she hurried to explain. Zero reached her now, and she offered him her hands. He took them, helping her up, while his eyes appreciated the sight of her, feeling more intimate than an actual caress.

He could see the skin of her bosom glisten with moisture, the side of her face also dripping water from her hair, but when she straightened before him his eyes became set on her angled face, her surreal beauty matched in her fierce determination and intelligence. Azkadellia's hands held onto his upper arms suddenly, and she inched herself closer to him. Behind her the fire breathed warmth towards their bodies, providing long desired comfort.

"Balance must be maintained. I can't become what I was. Not again," she told him, her unyielding opinion reflected in the way she held herself, even as he still held her hands to support her.

At this Zero laughed heartily, "And yet the rules are for _me_."

Because he was the one who could tempt her back into sin, because by controlling him she might control herself. Azkadellia had never seen herself as a cornerstone, as something to depend on, yet she had been that for him all along.

"You don't need to say it," he whispered to her. "I know."

His assurance was gentle, forgiving. He didn't inflame her with shame or treat her conviction for change as anything but necessary. Hadn't they always fit together well, like pieces of the same puzzle? She would lead and he would follow. Her lead wasn't kind, and sometimes he would work himself to his limits to reach her goals where others would give up and falter, yet to them it was something more than just the chain of command. To them it was the way things were supposed to be. People called it sickness and addiction, but they were content themselves.

He wanted to be ruled, he needed to be restrained, just like she needed to be restrained. If she needed to control him in order to control herself, he would comply. She had once unleashed him so it was only appropriate she would keep him under control now.

"Do you accept these rules?" she asked him.

A silent song within her played, speaking only the language of longing, of fragile desire. They had been so close in the tower, playing their game of cat and mouse within his cell. Each caress was remembered, each kiss revered, and their effects had not yet dissipated from their bodies. She became aflame so easily, with a single look, a single word.

Hadn't that been the reason she had been alone? Because no one else could enjoy her dominance and keep coming back for more, because with him the desire to do so wasn't a perversion, but the most natural thing. Even now, with Zero looking down at her intently, waiting to express his submission, she was aroused by him.

"Yes."

She pressed lightly against his chest, feeling the way it wet the front of her camisole, framing the shape of her breasts visible, in reminiscent of their meeting once. It had rained then too. Zero saw this; the sight fed his growing appetite and his body reacted accordingly. His expression was wolfish now, his breathing becoming thicker and thicker. It warmed her face, but its warmth was fleeting.

Knowing exactly what he thought, she put some space between them, giving him a better view of her, and held his hands, pulling him closer to the fire. Zero placed his large hand on her cheek, feeling its smoothness with his skin. He kissed her then, closing his eyes for once, trusting that she would no longer push him away. Her body arched onto his, embraced his unrelenting figure.

When she released his hand, it quickly made its way around her waist, through the moist layers of her dress, cupping her back, searching for the strings to release her camisole. She rubbed her lips against his, allowed his tongue access to her mouth. The tip of his tongue flicked against her teeth, swirled around her tongue. He sensed her approval from the way she inhaled deeper and angled his head more to deepen the kiss.

Azkadellia brought her hands to his chest when he finally broke the kiss. She began opening the buttons of his shirt, enamored by his silent reverie of her graces. Something behind her tickled her back and then she felt the fabric of her camisole loosen. He tugged at the strings, releasing her top and then pushing it down her waist, his eyes wholly consumed by the sight of her beauty. A warm hand quickly enclosed her breast, spreading warmth and affection to it. Her nipples had hardened in the cold, but now they greeted his hands even more erect and one was quickly found by his hand. He began to rub on it softly while she finished opening his shirt.

Giving him a commanding look, Azkadellia made him stop and she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, pulling it down his hands while he stood by patiently, his hands straight and his mischievous eyes targeting her. Once the shirt fell down, she ran her hand across his middle, brushing against his chest hair in a pleasurable way. Her hand reached his neck, climbing all the way to his face before it stopped and she rose to her toes to kiss him. Their bodies pressed together, and she could feel the torturous presence of his arousal press against her stomach.

One of his hands began to gather the layers of her dress as they kissed, pulling it up in her front until his hand could slip beneath it. His fingers quickly found her heated center, finding it moist and slick as proof of her responsiveness to his affections. He pushed a finger between her folders, watched it elicit breathy moans from her and repeated the action once or twice before he began rubbing her lightly. He ended their kiss to witness her reaction, finding her so divine in the midst of her pleasure; her eyes were practically buzzing with pleasure now, a faint rosy tint on her cheeks.

Her hand reached for the front of his trousers, caressing the bulge there with a wicked smile. She increased the pressure, moving her own legs further apart as he continued his action. Then she pulled his trousers aside, bringing his arousal to plain view and closing its base within her fist. Zero was excited; he dared her to go further wordlessly, while pushing a single digit inside her, making her wince at the unexpected sensation. She returned his dare and began to move her hand in a pumping motion around his length. At first her rhythm was slower, and then she increased her strength and speed. Zero continued to stroke her folds, teasing her entrance.

She leaned against him after enjoying the slow torture for awhile, whispering in his ear, "On the floor."

He stopped, glancing around him, eventually watching as she sat down by the fire, her eyes cast on him. Zero descended to his knees soon after, moving over her after she laid her back on the floor, suddenly closing his lips around her nipple. His free hand began to knead her other breast lightly, and he switched after awhile, content in her sound of her moaning. Azkadellia bit her lip lightly, trying to keep still, even as his arousal was pressed against her thigh, reminding her of what was yet to come. Her sighs were throaty, full of lust. With each suck and twirl of tongue around her nipple she could feel a pressure building between her legs, the slickness between them also increasing by the moment.

She grabbed his length again, continuing to pump it with her hand, slowly inching his hips closer to hers. He removed his mouth from her nipple after awhile, stopped to look at her enraptured face, which was when she moved his arousal to her entrance with her hand, raising her chin at him. Her black hair was laid around her head, her clothes pushed to her hips and stomach in bundles: A vision of disorder, but what a lovely vision indeed.

She pushed her hips upwards sharply, pushing him inside her. Zero's face betrayed the delirium of this moment, her warmth so inviting once enveloped around his length. He recovered quickly though, beginning a steady rhythm, moving in and out, kissing her face and neck and shoulders as he moved. His movement only increased the pleasant burning inside her and she did her best to push her hips into his thrusts to deepen the motion.

"Come here," she pleaded, inviting his lips closer as he clutched her breast, feeling his release approach. Sweat drops gathered at his brow and he no longer knew cold.

Suddenly Azkadellia pushed him over, climbing atop him. She settled to sit on his hips, still very much connected to him. Zero stared at her from the floor, his eyes never leaving her body. He held onto her hips at first as she rode him. She was perfection like that: untethered and wild. He moved his hands to her breasts, holding them as she moved, squeezing her nipples between fingers, knowing how much she loved it when he did this.

And when she rode him towards his release, gently tucking him over that cliff, she felt him push against her, his movement frantic and then suddenly ceased all together. At this point she quickly took charge, working her own weak spot with a repeating mechanical motion until her eyes were fluttering and strength fled her. Covered in sweat, her undergarment stained in their bodily fluids and smelling of sex all over, she rose from him, putting herself on the floor beside him. Zero leaned back, watched the world spin before his eyes.

And when she laid her hand on his chest, he rolled to his side, pulling her closer, shielding her with his body. Azkadellia's eyes were open, awake. She waited for his approval as nervously as she had on their first night, almost endearing in her insecurity. He kissed her, ran his hand across her back, brushed her nipples with his calloused thumbs, and held onto that satisfied smile.

She was very vulnerable like this, and always had been. It no longer mattered though. Even as tears prickled her eyes, she looked at him bravely. Defeated, disgraced, but they were together regardless.

"I will come to you every night," he murmured in her ear, "as long as you let me, Azkadellia."

"Just stay with me," she told him in return, closing her eyes.

Sleep claimed her soon after, the intrusive rain sounding a lullaby. He guarded her sleep, not quite ready to dream yet. He feared sleep, feared finding a timeless creature in her stead, no matter how foolish such fears were. It would take him time to sleep by her, to know no fear.

They were two against the world as he did not yet know of their deaths that would release them from their painful history.

TBC


	15. Epilogue: Tears of the Wicked

15. Epilogue – Tears of the Wicked

They travelled for a time, cascading into the hidden valleys of the O.Z., climbing the feral mountains, standing in the face of the sea, yet finding no ledge at the ends of the world. News of their supposed deaths didn't meet them at first as they shun other people, keeping to themselves, seeking little trouble. In time even the wicked learned of the forgiveness they had been granted, struck down in confusion when a new opportunity was presented upon them.

They crept back into the world, into the safety of trees and wilderness where isolation protected them from outside influence as much as it protected the world from their presence. They became little more than shadows, their existence mired in myth as the swamp witch and her champion. But no connection was made between the martyred Princess who had died to pay her sins and the crone that wandered in the wilderness.

In the beginning Zero often wondered about the difference between the Sorceress and Azkadellia. The woman beside him had her harshest edges smoothened, her greatest vices cured. Enough remained that she still felt familiar to him, still made him feel sated in her presence and, most importantly, complete. Other things he learned through trial and error, argument and violent struggle, forced to obscenity and rage in the heat of the moment, yet afterwards they always returned, always reverted back. The hateful shadows of the past could only rage on so much, until the now vanquished them.

Azkadellia often dreamed of DG. In her dreams she could apologize to her sister for leaving without forewarning, for disappointing her younger sibling, and her sister would reply with love and hold her wordlessly. In her dreams they would talk for hours, relating how their lives had changed since their last encounter. DG, now a Queen, would tell Azkadellia of the worries of rulers, the burden of the crown, and her attempts to be worth it. Sometimes Azkadellia would listen with that overwhelming irritation, her insides twisting and speaking, _the crown was mine; it belonged to me. _But the pangs of envy were few and far between, and solitude suited her better.

Cain, bound by the Queen's council, felt hatred dissipating in his heart as the time passed. The lie became easy to live in, comfortable to pretend. There were days when he forgot all about him, all about the blinding pain. They never spoke about Azkadellia or Zero. The past lied undisturbed, a shared secret that didn't weigh so much in the end. The poison in his gut became weaker, its power dwindling with every new morning.

_You'll be alright_, DG had once told him. Little by little he came to realize how right she'd been. And the man on the road without a name, he remained unknown, his shadow too small to reach Cain anymore.

DG ascended to the throne with universal acceptance from the people. She was well-loved and respected, albeit without a husband. Ambrose stood by her side through-out the hardships, acting as advisor, friend, and confidant. Together they restored the OZ of old, rebuilding what had been lost.

The first years were trying, setbacks occurred and she would often wonder if Azkadellia had been better at this than her. Such doubts were often quickly brushed away. Azkadellia remained in her thoughts though, seeped into her dreams, always assuring her she was happy. Upon waking DG would think about this, about this Azkadellia in her dream, appearing so vivid and soft-spoken.

Their mother gave up the crown when her health began to fail her, but she did so without qualms or fear; DG was ready, the people turned to her like flowers towards the sun, and her time was over. She remained respected and retreated to Finaqua with her husband by her side, enjoying the beautiful lakeside DG had restored. While not having actively thought of Azkadellia for some time, it was there that she took to reminiscing the past again.

For after the play had finished and the actors had left the stage, the Coffin always returned, singing its siren's song to the guilty, promising them just judgment. Its reappearance proved that Azkadellia had rather battled her inner judgment than that of the ancient relic. It proved the Coffin had let her go in the only manner Azkadellia could've accepted release; through fierce battle, her victory earned with scars.

When the Coffin reappeared it also put to rest an old promise she had once made. The former Queen gained confidence her decision was not the wrong one, and that in the years to come she would not need to worry about her daughter. If there was darkness in Azkadellia, there was also light, something good enough for the Coffin to have given her freedom instead of death.

In the anniversary of Azkadellia's death the Queen, DG, addressed the people each year, inviting them to a silent reverie. A martyred princess, a blood sacrifice, Zero would find it endlessly amusing. But Azkadellia respected this legacy, tried to live up to her name even in anonymity.

Women would come to her, driven at their limits, tired of the mundane, filled with evil thoughts. Some times Azkadellia would help them and sometimes she would not. She could always tell the bad ones apart, would feel a pang of recognition in her chest when they spoke. She would guide the good ones adroitly, show them conviviality, palliate their pain so akin to her own. And the ones that did not pass her test she would cast to the wolves, knowing evil needed only a seed. Although reacquainted with the title of witch, she did not mind being this crone in the wild, a revered and feared tale. It gave her some purpose at least.

If Zero felt regret, he did not voice it to her. At first to him his actions were only considered unspeakable crimes when power exchanged hands; before they had just been the way of war, the way of dominance: Her orders, her ideals, his suffocating need to be acknowledged. Even while imprisoned, he had decided his life would not be governed by sycophants. Change did not reach him easily.

She instilled him with something though, gave him the chance to be Adrian again. Azkadellia didn't do this to domesticate him or ensure survival; He was incongruous with the world around him, and his ribald nature was part of his charm. By fixing him she fixed herself. By restoring his faith in himself, she restored hers. By loving him, the real him, she also loved herself.

In time she came to see more Adrian than Zero in him.

Zero was content by her side; a realization which did not dawn on him immediately, but became apparent as days became elongated, months stretched on, years become vast and endless in her company. He mitigated her burdens, returning to his former state of mind, the rules of engagement carved into his backbone. He was no longer wasteful, no longer indulged himself in violence, thrills and wine. She held onto his leash, helping rein in the animal she had helped him become. He had always been good at following rules; now they were the condition to their relationship, a necessity to remain protected.

The future wasn't fearful in the end. They held onto one another, reformed. Many annuals of love left in them after two lifetimes of loneliness.

THE END


End file.
